Lullaby
by Luxio Nyx
Summary: "...This is why I hate family reunions." Everyone knows that nations basically create chaos... No one said anything about their kids. Warning: Past M-Preg, OCxOC Don't like, don't read. Sequel to Stolen Lullabies, but can be stand alone.
1. Chapter 1: Kurt

**Hey! Okay, so here is the start of the collection of oneshots about the kids from Stolen Lullabies. Anyways, I'm probably going to go between the relationships of the kids and the families. And, since this particular couple has been bugging me for ages, I decided to start out with a glimpse at the SwissAus family and the Nordic families.**

**Okay, so quick review of the kids here:**

**SwissAus:**

** Kurt Mozart Zwingli-Edelstein: Vienna**

** Sebastian Bach Zwingli-Edelstein: Geneva**

**SuFin:**

** Topi Vihtori ****Vainamönen**-**Oxenstierna: Helsinki**

** Davin Eduard ****Vainamönen-Oxenstierna:Stockholm**

**DenNor:**

** Christian: Copenhagen**

** Freya: Oslo**

Lilli Zwingli (Liechtenstein) shifted uneasily in front of the door, her sea-green eyes flickering down to the two young boys that were clutching onto her hands. A boy with chin-length brown hair and identical eyes returned her gaze with a small smile before turning back to the snow-laden pine trees that bordered the house in front of them. Liechtenstein chuckled quietly, her smile faltering slightly when she turned to the other boy.

Kurt, her oldest nephew, didn't look up at his aunt. His bright violet eyes were trained with a murderous intensity on the tops of his worn brown snow boots, apparently oblivious to the locks of bright blond hair that were beginning to fall onto his pale forehead. He glanced furtively towards his brother for a brief moment, only to look away immediately when Sebastian returned his gaze, his other hand clenching into a small, tight fist around the handle of a shiny black case. Lilli sighed.

_I really hope he isn't like this all day_, Lilli thought. Honestly, there were times when Kurt was a little _too_ much like his parents...

The young country glanced up as the door opened, her lips curving into another smile when Emil (Iceland) appeared in the door way.

Iceland's lips twitched into something that could almost resemble a smile, only to flinch when a loud crash and a muffled yelp came came from the room behind him.

"_H__æ_ (**Hi**)," he muttered. "...Thanks for doing this."

Liechtenstein shrugged and flashed her boyfriend a second smile as she helped her two nephews into the house, her eyes widening in surprise when a blond boy launched himself at Iceland, his skinny arms wrapping tightly around Emil's neck. Emil grimaced and stumbled, earning a triumphant yell from the small creature latched onto him.

"...You've met Matthias's (Denmark) son, _j__á_ (**yes**)?" Iceland muttered.

Lilli laughed and gently removed her hands from her nephews' grip. She moved forward and pried the giggling boy away from Emil. Emil nodded to her in gratitude, his indigo eyes narrowing slightly as they went to Liechtenstein's companions.

"Ah... weren't there two of them?"

Liechtenstein gasped and whirled around, her mouth falling open in horror when Sebastian merely stared up at her with questioning green eyes.

Kurt was gone.

The city of Vienna bolted down the unfamiliar hallway, his violin case held in a vice-like grip against his chest. He flinched when an unfamiliar voice called his name, his violet eyes locking on a door at the end of the hall just as several sets of footsteps began to echo in his ears.

Kurt reached out and twisted the doorknobs with shaking hands, a low sigh of relief breaking through his lips when it opened without a struggle, his blond head ducking through the portal moments before he slid the door shut behind him. The blood pounded in his ears and he leaned against the door, his breath catching in his throat when footsteps walked past the door without a moment's pause. Then... Silence.

"_Danke Gott_ (**Thank God**)," he whispered.

The Austrian boy waited a few moments to make sure that no one else was coming before he turned to study his new surroundings, his chin lowering in a small, satisfied nod when he saw that he had managed to find the library. Kurt edged cautiously into the room, only to pause after a few steps, his gaze flickering down to the case in his hands with an almost-mischievous gleam. He hesitated, risked a glance back towards the door, and edged closer to the middle of the room before he gently lowered the case to the ground, his slim fingers brushing reverently against the case's clasps as he opened the black shell. A small, rare smile flashed across his delicate lips at the sight of the polished violin shining against black satin and he lifted the instrument with quiet reverence to his chin, his eyes slipping closed as he began to play.

Soft music filled the room, weaving around the silent boy in a tangled, soothing web. Kurt smiled again, a pleased shiver slipping through his spine as his cheek brushed against the violin's cool surface. A low hum rose in Vienna's throat and mixed with the music in a quiet duet.

"_Niin kaunis_ (**So beautiful**)..."

Kurt's eyes flew open and he whirled around, his lips twisting into a snarl as he brandished the bow in his hand like a sword.

"_Wer ist da?_ (**Who's there?**)" he snapped, his eyes narrowed into slits as a smaller shape inched cautiously out of the shelter of the bookshelves.

A small boy stared up at Kurt, his pale lips still parted in a small "O" of awe, his indigo eyes bright beneath delicate, wire-rimmed glasses. Fringes of silver-blond hair brushed against his thin, pale face in a delicate wave, accentuating the thin bones that rose beneath ivory skin.

The boy was beautiful... Not that that stopped Kurt from wanting to kill him.

"_Hallo_ (**Hi**)," the boy chirped, his voice barely audible, even in the relative silence of the room. "You're lovely."

Kurt stiffened, his eyes widening in shock at the boy's statement. "I... What?"

"When you play," the boy explained breathlessly. "You're so lovely when you play. Your music, too. It's perfect."

Vienna flushed a bright, furious red and glanced away, his fingers flexing anxiously around the instrument in his hands before he lowered it back into the case.

"Ah..._Danke_," he muttered.

The boy beamed.

"I'm Topi," he said happily. "Topi Vihtori. Sometimes _ä__iti_ (**mother**) calls me Helsinki." The boy, Topi, paused and glanced at Kurt expectantly, his delicate, porcelain hand already outstretched.

Kurt's blush deepened and he took the hand with obvious reluctance, his violet eyes focused on the plush carpet beneath their feet.

"...Kurt," he sighed. "Kurt Mozart. They call me Vienna."

Topi smiled again, and Kurt's heart lurched.

_Why did that happen? What's wrong with me?_

"How old are you?" Topi asked pleasantly, apparently oblivious to the fact that their hands were still clasped.

"...Eight," Kurt murmured.

"Oh wow, you're really old," Topi giggled, causing the Austrian to frown again. "I'm six. Six is a good age, _kyll__ä_ (**yes**)?"

"I like being eight," Kurt snapped. He stiffened at the surprised look on Topi's face, waiting for the boy's face to crumple, for the tears to start rising in those bright indigo eyes and pour down those porcelain cheeks, just as they had poured down the cheeks of countless others. His Spanish and Italian cousins, Sebastian's Polish friend Akiana, even Sebastian himself... They had all learned to hate him, to stay away from his temper... Why should Topi be any different?

"Why?"

Kurt blinked and focused again on the Finnish boy, his lips parting in surprise when the younger boy smiled at him, his bright, silver head cocked to the side in confusion.

"W-Why what?" Vienna demanded, struggling unsuccessfully to soften his tone.

"Why is eight a good age?" Helsinki asked curiously.

"I- Because- Ah..." Kurt paused and glanced down at his violin, his eyes softening at the sight of the burnished wood. "...because I got _mein Geige_ (**my violin**)."

Topi's eyes followed Kurt's. He nodded silently, his expression bright with silent reverence as he studied the instrument.

"... Eight is a good age," the Finn sighed. "I hope I get that old."

Kurt frowned slightly and glanced back at Helsinki, confused. "Why wouldn't you?"

Topi blinked up at him, his brow furrowing in the tiniest hint of a frown. He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes widening when no sound escaped his throat except for a small, hoarse gasp.

Kurt yelped as the Finn suddenly collapsed at his feet, his slim shoulders shuddering in time with the rattling gasps that broke past his lips. Topi looked up at Kurt with wide, frightened eyes, his trembling fingers reaching tentatively for Kurt's feet.

"H-Help... Help!" Kurt croaked. "_Helfen sie ihm, bitte!_ (**Help him, please!**) Help him!"

Footsteps came towards the room, echoing in Kurt's ears, pounding in time with the thrumming of his heart. The Austrian forced himself to stay where he was, his knees buckling beneath him as he reached out to grab Topi's tiny hand. Helsinki stared up at him, tears spilling across his perfect features as another shudder ripped through his trembling frame.

"D-Don't cry... You're going to be alright, o-okay? S-Someone's coming," Kurt stammered.

The door burst open and Iceland ran into the room, an anxious Liechtenstein close behind him. Emil bent immediately to lift Topi into his arms, his stoic features crumpling with worry at the sight of his nephew. Kurt whimpered and made to follow Iceland as the Nordic left the room, only to have Lilli hold him back.

"It's okay," Liechtenstein whispered gently. "Just give them a minute. Emil knows how to help your friend."

"He's not my f-friend," Kurt choked, his violet eyes still locked on the door that had shut behind the tiny Finn.

Lilli raised her eyebrows but kept silent, her fingers brushing gently through Kurt's silky blond hair.

"Sebastian was worried about you," she murmured. "He's out in the living room with Davin, Freya, and Christian right now."

"I don't know them," Kurt snapped.

"Davin is Topi's big brother. Him and Freya are both pretty quiet, but I'm sure you all would get along... And you've met Christian. He came out to meet you when we walked in the door."

Kurt winced, remembering the loud platinum-blond blur that had nearly tackled Iceland to the ground and sent him running for his life.

"...I want to wait... for Topi," he mumbled.

Liechtenstein smiled despite herself and nodded. "I'll ask Emil if you can when he comes back."

Kurt bowed his head and knelt beside his violin case, his hands shaking as they tucked the gleaming instrument back into its case.

"_Danke_," he whispered.

Iceland sighed heavily as he left Topi's room. This had been the second attack in a week... Hadn't the doctors said that that was a bad sign? God, why the hell did he even agree to watch these kids? It was painful enough watching his nephew suffer when he wasn't the one in charge... He didn't even want to picture Tino's face when Finland learned that his son had collapsed again...

Emil turned to go back into the living room, only to freeze when he nearly collided with the silent boy that was now staring at him over the edge of a shiny violin case, his violet eyes latched onto Iceland's with an odd mixture of irritation and worry.

"...Is Topi okay?" Kurt asked.

"...Yes."

Vienna hesitated and glanced down at his case before forcing himself to look back at the pale Nordic country.

"Can I... see him?"

Emil blinked slowly, his thoughts flashing back to the small boy that had stared up at him with bleary eyes and mouthed something about a violin. He nodded.

"He's resting but... Yeah."

Kurt nodded stiffly in thanks before walking silently into the room, leaving a surprised Iceland in his wake. Emil paused for a moment before edging closer to the half-open doorway, careful to keep himself hidden as he strained to hear the hushed whispers that had suddenly filled the silence.

"...happens a lot but it's okay! I just hate making people worry..."

"I wasn't worried... Just... Ah..."

"Are you lonely, Kurt?"

Silence for a moment. Then: "_Ja_. I... I'm not nice."

"I think you're nice."

"..._Danke_."

"Want to be friends?"

"...Want to listen to another song?"

"Ooo! _K__yll__ä!_ (**Yes!**) What song?"

"It... It's one of mine..."

"You wrote it?"

"..._Ja_... It's okay if you don't want to-"

"I want to listen to it...Please."

Emil waited until the softest whispers of a melody had started to leak into the hallway before he turned away, the smallest of smiles playing across his features.

...Maybe he would have something good to tell Tino and Berwald when they came home.


	2. Chapter 2: Louisa

**Hi again! So, I know that I haven't updated in a while... You guys would not believe how awful my schedule has been so far. But, luckily, Christmas vacation starts tomorrow so I'll be able to get my stories up to date. Anyways, I decided to update this first as a nod to the end of the world that was supposed to happen yesterday ;) I will probably update American Valentines and Waves of Salvation within the next few days, and hopefully I'll get some other updates in before the break is over.**

**Well, now that that's out of the way, here's the list of kids that will appear in this one-shot. Also, just as a note, this one is set in the present, so the kids are teens at this point.**

**GerIta:**

**Francisco Michelangelo Vargas-Beilschmidt: Milan**

**Magnus Friedrich Vargas-Beilschmidt: Berlin**

**Louisa Vittoria Vargas-Beilschmidt: Munich**

**Niccolo Rafaelo Vargas-Beilschmidt: Florence**

**FrancexChina:**

**Jian Wang: Beijing**

**Jeanne Bonnefoy: Paris**

**PruHun:**

**Andras "Fritz" Hedervary-Beilschmidt: Budapest**

**Spamano:**

**Cielo Romano Carriedo-Vargas: Sicily**

**Isabella Maria Carriedo-Vargas: Madrid**

**Margarita Luciana Carriedo-Vargas: Barcelona**

Jian Wang glanced up as the door slammed open, his eyebrows nearly disappearing beneath a fringe of short black hair when two familiar figures stumbled into the crowded bar. He waited for them to find him, a small sigh of affectionate exasperation breaking through his lips when the teens failed to even look in his direction.

"Fritz!" he yelled. "Rita! I'm over here, aru!"

Margarita saw him first. The Spanish girl grinned widely and waved, her other hand clasped firmly around Fritz's arm as she dragged the Hungarian over to the bar. Fritz collapsed onto the stool beside Jian, his red-brown eyes glittering mischievously despite the somber expression on his pale features.

"_Kedves bar__á__tom_ (**my dear friend**)!" he slurred. "May I say that it has been an honor knowing you."

Jian's eyebrows actually _did_ disappear this time, his head cocked to the side in confusion. He glanced towards Barcelona for explanation, only to have the Spanish girl shake her head in shared confusion.

"He's been like this all day," she whispered. "_Crec que est__à__ borratxo_ (**I think he's drunk**)."

"'m not _dr'nk_," Fritz whined.

"Fritz, _afecte_ (**darling**), you're starting to sound like Davin (Stockholm)," Margarita laughed. She chuckled when Budapest raised his hand and loudly demanded a beer and deftly gestured for two more drinks. "Now, would you _please_ tell us why we needed to meet up in some German bar four days before Christmas? Do you even know how hard it was for me to get out of the house without Cielo noticing? I swear, if he finds out and rats me out to _pare_ (**papa**), I'll kill you."

Fritz snorted. The Hungarian flashed the barmaid a charming grin as she set his beer in front of him, causing the girl to flush and giggle as she handed Jian and Margarita the remaining drinks. Jian accepted the drink with a soft smile of his own, his eyes glinting with a surprising wickedness when the girl nearly fainted.

"Showoff," Fritz grumbled. He paused and considered his drink for a moment, his expression sobering once again. "...The world is going to end today."

"上帝 (**God**), not that rubbish again, aru," Jian groaned. "Seriously, Fritz, I thought you had more sense than that."

"Relax," Fritz chortled. "I'm not _that_ gullible. Some people are, though..."

"What are you saying?" Margarita asked slowly, her bright green eyes narrowed slightly.

Fritz simply smirked and leaned in towards his two companions, his voice lowering conspiratorially as he whispered into their ears.

Jian grinned.

"Ohonhonhon~ I like the way your mind works, aru."

ARU*ARU*ARU

_Breathe. Focus on the target. Just focus and aim... Focus..._

BANG

A small smile flickered across Louisa's lips as the weapon jerked in her hand, her blue eyes narrowing as she strained to see if she had hit her mark.

_Perfect_.

Munich hummed in vague approval and snapped another bullet into the old revolver that was cradled reverently in her pale hands, her calloused fingers brushing gently against the delicate floral pattern that had been carved into the silvery surface. She smiled fondly as she remembered the day her father had given it to her. It had been her first Christmas after Niccolo was born, back when she had been so worried about failing her younger brother, before she had realized what an enormous pain in the _ass_ that damn Italian could be.

"Oh _sorella_ (**sister**)~ _Ci sei, sorella?_ (**Are you there, sister?**)"

"_Mein Gott_ (**My God**)," Louisa thought. _Speak of the devil..._

"Where else would I be, idiot?" she yelled.

Niccolo's chuckle echoed across the flat fields of the shooting range, his eyebrows rising as he squinted at the target that had been placed several yards away.

"_Accidenti_ (**Damn**)," he murmured. "I hope you weren't picturing _me_ when you shot at that thing."

Louisa smirked. "Would you be worried if I said that I was?"

Niccolo paused to consider this for a moment, his head cocked to the side. He smirked suddenly and snatched the pistol out Louisa's hand before she could blink. Without a word, the Italian fired at the target, his hazel eyes glittering wickedly when the shot slammed into the paper just above Louisa's own mark.

"Not particularly," he purred. "Although, I don't think Maggy would like it if we had a gunfight in the living room again."

"Who says it has to be in the living room?" Louisa muttered. "No one really uses the attic, anyways."

Florence laughed and tossed the pistol back into his sister's waiting hands.

"Just let me know when," he chuckled.

"What do you want, Nic?" Munich muttered.

"Someone's at the door asking for you," Niccolo replied almost immediately. "Ah, actually there might be more than one person..."

"..._Ficken mein Leben_ (**F#&% my life**)."

ARU*ARU*ARU

"我的爱! (**My love!**)" Jian yelled. The Asian teen nearly launched himself into Louisa's arms the moment the German girl walked into the room, his normally-immaculate black hair ruffled into half-hearted spikes. His cheeks were flushed as Louisa violently pushed him away, his eyes smoldering as they studied her own pink features.

Louisa shivered despite herself beneath his gaze, unable to look away from those intense, multi-colored eyes.

_Gott, his eyes shouldn't even be legal_, she thought sullenly. How the hell did someone even get one blue eye and one brown eye, anyways?

"What the hell do you want, _Peking_ (**Beijing**)?" she demanded

Jian pouted.

"So cruel, aru!" he lamented. "Will you never use my name, 我的爱? Even at the end of our world, you refuse to grant this last request. 啊，多么残酷的爱是 (**Ah, how cruel love is**)!"

"What are you talking about- are you drunk?" Louisa growled. She felt her eye twitch slightly when Jian pulled her into another awkward embrace, his eyes now brimming with tears.

"Hah! If only," Fritz called out, causing the German girl to jump.

_Dammit, how could I have forgotten that the other two were here?_

"_S__í_ (**Yes**), he was blabbering on like this before he got hammered," Margarita piped up. "Poor guy didn't really take the news very well."

"What-"

"The world is ending," Barcelona stated matter-of-factly. "Don't you pay attention to the Mayan calender?"

Louisa simply stared at the two teens, her blue eyes flickering towards the tearful Chinese teen that was still clutching onto her shoulders. She huffed in annoyance and tucked a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear, mentally cursing Niccolo for letting these idiots into the house in the first place.

"...Right," she sighed. "And you decided to spend the last day of the world in my house because...?"

"Jian insisted on it," Fritz chuckled. "Apparently he couldn't bear to die without his _love_."

_Why does the world hate me?_ Louisa thought sourly. She glanced up at Jian, her eyes narrowing when she saw that he was still watching her with wide, desperate eyes.

"What do I have to do to make you go away?" Munich asked slowly.

Beijing's eyes flashed for a brief moment, his lips curving into a warm, tender smile that sent a flash of heat down Louisa's spine.

"吻我," he whispered.

"W-what did you say?" Louisa stammered, her pale cheeks flushing a bright red under his suddenly-intense gaze.

"Kiss me," Jian purred. "Just once. One kiss from you, 亲爱的 (**darling**), and I can die a happy man."

"I- You- This is the most ridiculous-"

"C'mon, _unokatestv__é__r_ (**cousin**)," Fritz called. "One kiss and we're out of here."

"And hurry up, please," Margarita added cheerfully. "I still need to say good-bye to _el meu amor_ (**my darling**) Freya."

Louisa glared at the other two, her light blue eyes sliding reluctantly back to Jian's expectant gaze.

"Just... one kiss?" she muttered.

Beijing smirked and nodded. He leaned closer to the blushing German, his delicate fingers reaching out to brush another tendril of long blonde hair behind her ear. He paused for a moment, his soft lips parting barely an inch away from her's, his breath ghosting across the sensitive skin of her lower lip in a warm, sweet wave of green tea and almonds-

_Wait._

Louisa smirked suddenly and closed the distance between them, her rough fingers reaching out to rest against the nape of Jian's neck as she pulled him closer. Her smile widened when he reacted, his muscular arms wrapping around her waist and shoulders in a tight embrace. Beijing pulled away after a few moments, his eyes wide and gleaming with surprise and pleasure.

"Louisa," he gasped huskily. "I-"

"Shh," Munich murmured. Then, louder "Magnus! Cisco! Nic!"

Louisa smirked at the horrified expression on Jian's face as her brothers hurried into the room, their expressions varying from concern to irritation.

"Lousia? What-?" Magnus began, only to break off abruptly when he caught sight of his sister nearly pressed against the wall by a suddenly-pale Asian.

Berlin's blue eyes narrowed, his hands tightening into fists as he moved forward slowly. Francisco and Niccolo followed slowly, their own eyes narrowed murderously.

"Niccolo," Francisco whispered.

"_Si?_" Florence replied coolly.

"..._Ottenere Pap__á_ (**Get Dad**)."

"妈的 (**Shit**)," Jian gasped. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for any sign of his friends, only to groan when he saw that Margarita and Fritz had already run out of the room. "Ah... I should really get going..."

"What's the rush?" Louisa whispered. "I thought you wanted to spend some time together... You know, before the _world ended_."

Jian grimaced. "When did you find out?"

"You mean, when did I figure out that you weren't actually drunk and were leading me on?" Louisa amended. "Sometime before you tried to shove your tongue down my throat."

"He _what?_" Magnus growled.

Jian gulped and hastily pulled away from Louisa, a nervous smile flickering across his lips.

"Ah... Maybe we could just talk this over... Aru?"

ARU*ARU*ARU

"Coming!" Jeanne called. The Parisian girl hummed cheerfully, her dark blonde hair streaming behind her as she nearly skipped towards the door. She paused just before she opened it to brush a few specks of dust off of the top of dark blue sweater dress, her chocolate-brown eyes nearly glowing with excitement.

"Aedan, _mon cher_ (**my dear**), how unexpect- Jian?"

Jian smirked at his twin sister, only to grimace as the movement sent a flash of pain through his bruised face. His brown eyes had nearly swollen shut, his chiseled features marred with several tiny scrapes and dark purple bruises.

"_Merde_ (**Damn**), Jian, what did you do?" Jeanne gasped. The younger twin stepped back to allow Beijing into her apartment, her eyes widening in alarm when the Chinese city limped gingerly across the threshold.

"Ohonhonhon~ I'm afraid Germany's charming sons can get rather protective of their beautiful sister."

Jeanne smirked and nodded in understanding as she herded her brother into the small kitchen, her hands going immediately for the washcloth that had been draped across the edge of the sink.

"Let me guess... You got a little too close for comfort?"

"I kissed her."

Paris froze and stared at Jian in shock.

"Really?" she gasped. "I'm impressed... How did you-?"

"Are you still having trouble getting Aedan to kiss you, aru?" Jian asked casually.

"Hmm... yes, now that you mention it. He is such an Englishman..."

Beijing grinned.

"Honhonhon~ I think I have a solution..."

**Please review and tell me what you think! Also, let me know which kids you really want to see and I'll try and fit them in soon, okay~?**


	3. Chapter 3: Fritz

**Hey! So, I'm sorry that it took so long for me to update anything. I've been working and studying for midterms for, like, the past two weeks. But, at last, they're over now~! So, anyways, I was going to do a fic centering around Aedan and Jeanne, but then I realized that I wanted to do that a little closer to Valentine's Day. So, I decided to do a fic about one of Russia's kids instead!**

**Alright, here's a quick list of the kids that are either mentioned or that appear in the fic:**

**RusCan:**

** Marc Lucien Braginski-Williams: Vancouver**

** Katerina Ivanova Braginski-Williams: Moscow**

** Daniil Immanuil Braginski-Williams: Toronto**

**FrancexChina:**

** Jian Wang: Beijing**

**PruHun:**

** Andras "Fritz" Hedervary-Beilschmidt: Budapest**

**Giripan:**

** Saichi Cassandra Honda-Karpusi: Tokyo**

** Achilles Taiyou Honda-Karpusi: Achilles**

Andras "Fritz" Hedervary-Beischmidt paused to consider the door in front of him. His red-brown eyes narrowed beneath tangled silver hair for a brief moment, his pale hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans as he wondered if it was worth it to break the damn thing down.

_Jian probably wouldn't mind_, he mused. _Can't make any promises about Sai, though…_

Budapest grimaced at the thought of his last run in with Tokyo. He hadn't been able to walk straight for close to a week after that.

"_Hé, imbécile_ (**Hey, idiot**)! Do you want something?"

Fritz blinked and glanced up, his lips curling into an automatic grin when his gaze locked on a slender boy dressed in a loose white _gi_*****. A thick black belt had been wrapped around his waist, his slim ivory hands curled around the strap of a bright red duffle bag that had been slung across his shoulders. Indigo eyes glared at Fritz suspiciously beneath a shock of platinum blonde hair that had been tied back into a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"Hello, _drágám_ (**darling**)," he purred.

The boy stiffened, his grip tightening for a brief moment before he reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind his ear. Fritz felt his smile widen when he caught sight of three small black piercings in the boy's ears.

"Ooh, rebellious, are we?" he cooed.

The boy's lip curled into a sneer, his eyes hardening into chips of violet eyes.

"What the hell do you want?" he snapped.

Fritz whistled. "Nice language, kid. What are you, twelve?"

"What do you want?" the boy demanded again. Fritz noticed with a dim sense of triumph that his hands were shaking.

"Well, that's a nice question, isn't it?" Budapest mused. "You see, I came here looking for a friend-"

"A _bitte_ (**dick**) like you has friends?"

"-But now I'm thinking that _you_ might be a bit more interesting," the Hungarian continued smoothly. "What do you say, hm? Feel like ditching this place to spend a few hours with me, little-"

Fritz yelped as a foot collided with his stomach and sent him sprawling onto the ground. He snarled and started to scramble to his feet, only to be knocked flat once again by a sharp jab to the ribs. Budapest's eyes widened the moment his gaze focused, a low growl breaking through his lips when he realized that the boy was now straddling him, a thin knife placed against the Hungarian's throat. The boy smirked at Fritz's expression, his icy eyes glittering like gems.

"You want to finish that sentence?" the boy purred silkily.

"Name," Fritz croaked. "What's your name, kid?"

The knife bit into his throat, drawing a small hiss from Budapest's throat.

"My name isn't any of your business," the boy snapped. The blond smirked after a moment and leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Fritz's ear as he whispered "Now get the fuck out of here."

*PruHun*PruHun*PruHun*

Elizabeta Hedervary wasn't really surprised when her son stumbled into the kitchen, his burgundy eyes narrowed in a mixture of pain and anger. She raised her eyebrows at his stormy expression, her lips pursed when she noticed the drops of ruby blood that were painfully visible against his pale skin.

"Before you ask, no, I wasn't drunk," Fritz sighed. The Hungarian capital collapsed heavily into a seat at the kitchen table.

"I find that hard to believe," Hungary remarked wryly. "You said that you were going to get Jian."

"He was at that damn dojo he goes to," Budapest grumbled. "Him and Sai train there all the time with her brother."

"Why didn't you go in and ask him to come with you?"

"The door was locked. Apparently Sai got tired of me 'bursting in and interrupting classes', or something."

Elizabeta grinned despite herself. "You always were your father's son," she murmured. "So, did they kick your ass for breaking down the door?"

"No!" Fritz snapped. "I didn't even break it down! Some brat came up before I could do anything and attacked me for no reason at all!"

Hungary raised her eyebrows, her expression doubtful. "…No reason?"

Fritz flushed and glanced away, his lips quirking upwards into a sheepish grin. "…I may have tried to flirt with him."

Elizabeta rolled her eyes, a fond smile making its way to her lips.

"Was he cute?" she teased.

"Adorable," Fritz murmured, his eyes softening for the briefest of moments. "And damn good with a knife…"

Elizabeta stared at her son, her light green eyes gleaming mischievously beneath her long brown hair.

"What did he look like?" she pressed.

Fritz shot her a half-hearted glare. "Ah… long, really light blond hair, several piercings on at least one of his ears, blue-purple eyes- _Anya?_ (**Mom?**) Where are you-?"

Hungary ignored her son's questions as she ran out of the kitchen, her lips curving into a slightly-manic grin as she ran up the stairs towards her bedroom. Prussia glanced up when she burst into the room, his pale hands still wrapped around the hilt of a sword that he had been polishing.

"Hey, Liz," he greeted. "Is Fritz home yet?"

"He just got home," Hungary snapped impatiently. "Gil, you're going to Canada's house tomorrow, right?"

"Ah, yeah," Gilbert muttered. "Could've sworn we talked about this last night-"

"You need to take Fritz with you," Elizabeta interrupted.

"I- Wait, what?"

"Take him with you," she hissed. "Trust me."

Prussia frowned and set his sword aside. "Why? Wait- are you trying to set him up with someone again? Because I don't really think Russia would appreciate it if he found Fritz flirting with one of his kids; besides, isn't Katerina already dating West's son?"

"I don't care about the girl," Hungary scoffed.

"You mean Marc, then? 'Cause he's practically living with Japan's girl, Saichi-."

"The _other_ boy!" Elizabeta whispered fervently. "Daniil! He beat up Fritz today!"

Prussia snorted. "And that's unusual because…?"

"_Isten_ (**God**), you're so oblivious," she groaned. "Remember how we met?"

Gilbert chuckled. "You mean, do I remember you shooting me in the leg with an arrow and whining about how you missed my balls?"

"Did you remember what I looked like after I left?" Hungary pressed.

"Duh," Prussia scoffed. "How the hell was I supposed to forget the woman who ranted for an hour about how I wasn't supposed to move and I was an insensitive dick and I really don't see what this has to do with-"

"Do you remember every single person that has ever beaten you up?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Does Fritz?"

"Probably not," Gilbert admitted.

"He remembers Daniil…And he doesn't even know the kid's name."

Prussia was silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he nodded.

*PruHun*PruHun*PruHun*

"I still don't see why I have to come with you."

Prussia shrugged and shifted slightly on his feet, silently praying that Canada would be the one to open the door this time. Birdie's creep of a partner always looked like he was plotting the albino's slow and untimely death whenever they saw each other.

"_Deine Mutter_ (**Your mother**) thought it would be a good idea," he muttered. "Father-son bonding time, you know?"

Fritz stared at his father, his silver brows raised. "…She doesn't know you take me to the bar every weekend, does she?"

Prussia grinned despite himself. "Let's keep it that way, eh?"

Budapest snorted and rolled his eyes, his shoulders tensing when the door was pulled open, revealing a teen with tangled, shoulder-length platinum blonde hair and tired indigo eyes that was clad only in a pair of loose-fitting red pajama bottoms. The teen raised his eyebrows at the sight of the two albinos, his lips curving into a small smirk when he noticed Fritz's stare.

"So," he purred. "How old do I look now?"

Fritz growled and launched himself at the Canadian, his fingers latching around the younger boy's slim, muscular arms as he dragged him down into the snow that was piled by the side of Canada's front porch. The boy hissed as the frozen liquid came into contact with his pale skin and slammed his fist into the Hungarian's jaw. Fritz recoiled and yelped when he was flipped over, his cheeks flushing when he found himself straddled by the teen once again.

The other boy smirked and leaned in again, apparently oblivious to the two other Canadians that had now joined a smirking Prussia on the front porch, their expressions ranging from confusion to amusement.

"Hmm… I kind of like this position," he murmured.

Fritz sneered. Without warning, Budapest twisted and threw the Canadian beneath him, his legs fitting easily around the boy's slender hips. The Hungarian smirked at the shocked expression on the younger boy's face and leaned in, not even bothering to keep his lips from brushing against the teen's flushed skin in the lightest of kisses. Fritz's smile widened when he felt his captive shiver.

"I'm more of a top person," he whispered. "Now… Wanna tell me your name, _ragyogó_ (**gorgeous**)?"

"D-Daniil," the teen gasped. "Daniil Immanuil."

Fritz grinned and pulled back, his hand extended.

"Nice to meet you," he chuckled. "Call me Fritz."

"You should get off my son now, da~?"

Fritz yelped as he was thrown off of Daniil, his eyes widening in alarm when he came face-to-face with a pair of icy violet eyes. Russia smirked and inched closer, his large hands wrapped lazily around a lead pipe.

"Ah, Russia, listen, calm down," Prussia called from the porch. The albino leapt over the rail and hurried towards the small group in the snow, Canada and Marc close behind him.

"I-Ivan," Canada broke in. "They were j-just having fun, eh?"

The Russian hesitated and glanced over at his partner, his eyes flickering towards his youngest child as Daniil slowly pulled himself to his feet, his slim arms crossed tightly in front of his bare, snow-encrusted chest.

"Ты в порядке, Даниил? (**Are you alright, Daniil?**)" Ivan demanded.

"I'm fine, папа (**Dad**)," Daniil assured him. "I was just playing with my… friend."

Fritz smirked despite himself, only to sober immediately when Russia turned back to him. The Russian considered Budapest for a long moment before he sighed and shook his head.

"Pity," he muttered. "…If I catch you molesting my son again, I will destroy you, da?"

Fritz grimaced and forced a small, uneasy smile onto his lips. "Yes, sir."

Ivan snorted and walked back into the house, his eyebrows rising when he caught sight of the smirk on his eldest child's features. Marc simply chuckled and shook his head before following his father into the house. Canada rolled his eyes and gestured for Prussia to follow him.

"Daniil," he called over his shoulder. "Put something on if you're going to stay out here."

"I'm not _naked_, _maman_," Daniil shot back. He stiffened as something warm was placed over his shoulders. "What-?"

Fritz shrugged and pulled away before the younger boy could return his coat. "It looks good on you, _kölyök_ (**kid**)."

Daniil flushed slightly and glared at the Hungarian, his lips quirking up into a reluctant smile. Fritz winked and tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

"Looks like I owe you one, _friend_," Budapest chuckled.

"Yes," Toronto smirked. "You do."

"…You too young to drink?"

Daniil snarled. "I swear if you make _one more_ comment about my age… I bet I can take more alcohol than you any day, _old man_."

Fritz frowned. "Is that a challenge? I'll have you know, I'm half-Prussian! Plus, I'm the capital of Hungary. Trust me, _kölyök_, we can hold our liquor."

Daniil smirked and shook his head.

"Well I'm half-Russian," he pointed out smugly. "And I'm the city of Toronto. Believe me, you hoser: no one holds liquor like the Russo-Canadians."


	4. Chapter 4: Aedan

**Hey guys! I'm finally back from the dead! …Okay, not really. But, good news (for you guys and for my schedule) the school play is over, so I now have more time to write. Yay!**

**Anyways, since it's really close to Valentine's Day, I figured I should keep up my little bargain and give you guys some AedanxJeanne! Also, in case any of you were curious, I'm planning on doing a short thing on Cielo and Achilles next time around.**

**Well, here's the list of characters that will probably make an appearance or be mentioned:**

**USUK:**

**Aedan Shakespeare Kirkland-Jones: London**

**Alyson Eleanor Kirkland-Jones: New York City**

**FrancexChina:**

**Jeanne Bonnefoy: Paris**

**Jian Wang: Beijing**

**PruHun:**

**Andras "Fritz" Hedervary-Beilschmidt: Budapest**

**DenNor:**

**Christian Bondevik-Køhler: Copenhagen**

Aedan slammed his glass down onto the beer-stained counter at the bar, his blue eyes clenching tightly beneath his tangled dark gold hair moments before his forehead joined the chipped, weathered cup on the rough wood.

He heard someone chuckle somewhere above his left shoulder and stiffened for a brief moment as a cool hand made contact with his shoulder.

"_Dårlig dag?_ (**Bad day?**)" Christian asked, his voice tinged with something that was too cheerful to be called sympathy.

Aedan merely grunted, a low groan breaking through his lips when a familiar "Kesesese~" reached his ears. Fritz laughed again at the sound of Aedan's moan before collapsing gracefully onto the nearest bar stool, his red-brown eyes glittering with a wicked sort of merriment.

"This couldn't have anything to do with the conversation that I had with Jian today about how his sister is currently out for your head for standing her up on a date, could it?" he asked lightly. "He says he'll castrate you the next time he sees you, _apropó_ (**by the way**)."

"Cheers," London moaned, his voice muffled by the damp wood that was currently pressed against most of his face. He sighed heavily and forced himself to raise his head, his thick brows furrowing in frustration when he caught sight of the odd mixture of pity and amusement in Fritz's expression.

"Piss off," he snapped, his frown deepening when his other drinking companion sat heavily on his other side and gave the British teen's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Copenhagen smirked when his hand was violently slapped away, his free hand already raised to call for another round of beer.

"So," he began conversationally. "Want to tell us what happened?"

"What makes you think something happened?" Aedan snarled. "Maybe I decided that I didn't want to date the bloody _frogette_."

Fritz scowled and smacked the Brit on the back of the head, not even bothering to look guilty when Aedan yelped in surprise and irritation.

"_Hülye_ (**Idiot**)," Budapest snapped. "I knew we should have video-taped you when you were wasted and screaming about you _undying love_ for _a gyönyörű_ (**the beautiful**) Jeanne-''

"Shut the hell up, will you?" Aedan hissed.

Fritz frowned but obediently shut his mouth, his burgundy eyes widening when he saw the smallest hint of despair in the British capital's sky-blue eyes. Christian bit his lip and glanced up as their beers arrived, his eyes darting nervously in Aedan's direction.

"You might want to take those back," Copenhagen whispered loudly.

Aedan rolled his eyes and snatched the beer out of the barmaid's hand, his throat working furiously as the bitter liquid slithered down his throat.

"Couldn't go," he mumbled. "Father wouldn'- wouldn' lemme go… said we had to meet with the sodding _Queen_… An' I didn' call 'er. 'm such a fucking _wanker_…"

Fritz nodded in solemn agreement, his expression softening when London hastily downed the rest of his drink and reached automatically for Christian's. Copenhagen grumbled in protest and smacked the other teen's hand away, his indigo eyes flashing up to meet Budapest's for a brief moment. Fritz grinned and nodded slowly, his pale hand slipping into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans. He waited until Christian and Aedan had gotten into a small fistfight over the half-finished beer before he quietly pressed a few numbers, his lips curving upwards into a mischievous grin when he put the call on speaker.

"So, you were late for your date with Jeanne because your father made you see the queen instead," he repeated slowly before the person on the other end of the call could comment. He heard a small, sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line and tightened his grip around the phone, silently praying that the girl had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

"'lready told you tha'," Aedan slurred, his expression crumpling as Christian shoved him away from the beer once again. "Nooo… Wanted thaaaaatttt."

Christian winced and rolled his eyes. "_Min Gud_," he muttered. "He's into the whining stage already… you're such a lightweight, A."

"'m not!" London objected loudly. "'mma goddamn Englishman! I can hold my- hold my lacquer b'tter than you!"

"You know that lacquer is a type of polish, right?" Copenhagen pointed out wryly. "Like, wood polish. It's a French word, too."

Aedan moaned pitifully and buried his face into his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp in frustration.

"French," he groaned. "Jeanne… Damn it… Damn her… Why's she so… _Bollocks!_"

"Why didn't you call Jeanne and reschedule when you realized that you couldn't make the date?" Fritz pressed, his gaze flickering warily down to the phone in his hand. _Isten (__**God**__), I hope she's still listening to this…_

"Dunno," Aedan moaned. "Too 'fraid to…"

"Why?" Christian asked, genuinely curious. The Dane glanced once in the direction of Fritz's phone, his purple-blue eyes glittering with anticipation.

Aedan shrugged sloppily and leaned back, nearly toppling onto the floor before Christian managed to catch him.

"'fraid," he mumbled. "'fraid she'd get mad an'- an' not want to go out wi' me again… She's so beautiful, you know… Could have anyone else… Why the hell would she give someone like me any- anythin'?"

"So, what you're saying is that you want to date her, right?" Fritz insisted.

Aedan snorted. "'Course I do…"

Budapest nodded and deftly ended the call before he slapped a handful of bills onto the bar, his arm already wrapped around the drunken Englishman's waist.

"All we needed to hear," he muttered. "C'mon, then, let's get out of here before they throw us out again…"

*USUK*USUK*USUK

Alyson stared down at the unconscious teen that was sprawled across the bed in front of her, her emerald eyes flickering thoughtfully between her brother's tousled golden hair and the thick blackout curtains that had been pulled sloppily across the window. She glanced back at Aedan and considered him for a long moment, her arms crossed loosely in front of her chest.

"…Oh fuck it," she murmured.

Without further ado, New York City skipped merrily to the windows and hastily yanked the thick fabric away from the glass, allowing golden sunlight to stream mercilessly into the room. Aedan cried out when the light slammed into him, his pale features screwed into a grimace as he buried his face into the navy-blue covers of his bed.

"What the hell?" he moaned.

"Time to wake up~" Alyson sang cheerfully.

"…Fuck you…"

New York City pouted and danced back to the side of London's bed, her eyes glinting wickedly beneath her wire-rimmed glasses.

"Language, little bro," she chirped. "Dad and Father went to meet up with Uncle Mattie before the UN meeting tomorrow, and I'm going off to train with Cisco, Maggie, and Kat for a few hours. Think you could drag yourself out of bed before I get back without dying?"

"Doubtful," London grumbled. "Bloody _hell_, what did I drink last night?"

Alyson shrugged and glanced over at her brother's bedside table, her head cocking slightly to the side as she read over the note that had been taped onto his lampshade.

"Ah… looks like you inhaled several pints of beer," she muttered. "Fritz says you're a lightweight, by the way."

Aedan scowled and burrowed further into the covers. "…'m a bloody Englishman…"

Alyson rolled her eyes and started to make her way out of the room, her footsteps pausing for a brief moment as she glanced over her shoulder, her long, tangled golden locks bouncing cheerfully against her shoulders. "That French girl called earlier, by the way. Ah, I couldn't really understand her accent… or French, really, but I'm pretty sure she said that it'll take more than a drunken rant for her to forgive you for… something about the Queen. Care to explain that?"

Aedan stiffened and slowly lifted his head off of the bed, his cerulean eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion and dawning frustration. "…What?"

Alyson simply shrugged and tossed his cellphone over her shoulder before she left the room, her lips quirking upwards into a small smirk when Aedan automatically caught the device. London nodded his thanks and hastily punched in a familiar number, his thick brow already furrowing beneath his tangled golden brown hair.

"Fritz," he growled dangerously. "What the hell did you do?"

*USUK*USUK*USUK*

Jeanne glared morosely at the fluffy chocolate croissant that had been placed in front of her, her delicate hands pressed weakly against the spotless marble of her kitchen counter. She huffed in frustration after a few moments and pushed violently away from her breakfast, her dark brown curls tumbling across her shoulders as she yanked several bobby pins out of her scalp.

"_Le damner_ (**Damn him**)," she hissed. "_Vous damner_ (**Damn you**), Aedan… Bad enough that you stand me up on a date and rob me of _mon sommeil de beauté_ (**my beauty sleep**), now you must disturb my eating habits?" She sighed and wearily rubbed her fists against her red-rimmed cobalt eyes.

"Damn Englishmen," she whispered wearily. "Why are you all so infuriating?"

"Sorry," a thickly accented voice called lazily from the doorway. "I'm afraid it's in our blood."

Jeanne gasped and whirled around, her eyes widening in shock when she saw Aedan leaning casually against her doorframe, his slim chest clad in a loose white Oxford that he hadn't bothered to tuck into the dark blue jeans that clung enticingly to his legs above a pair of worn combat boots. His bronze hair had been hastily brushed away from his pale forehead, allowing slim locks to curl gently around his elfin ears.

Aedan flashed her a small half-smile, his sapphire eyes wary as they took in her tangled locks and pale, ivory features.

"I came here to… apologize," he murmured slowly. "_Properly_ apologize since the, ah, drunken rant didn't count."

"It didn't," Jeanne agreed. She winced when her voice shook slightly, silently berating herself for being so weak. She was _French_, for heaven's sake.

Aedan smiled again and took a hesitant step closer, his pale hands slowly reappearing from the pockets of his jeans.

"My father really did force me to meet the Queen the night I… stood you up," he murmured. "And, coward that I was, I was… too afraid to call you."

"Why?" Jeanne pressed. Her breath caught in her throat when the Brit took another step forward, his warm eyes staring into hers with an odd mixture of fear and tenderness.

"Because I was afraid that I wouldn't get another chance with you," he admitted quietly. "And I couldn't stand to hear you reject me… not when I had finally started started to hope that we-" London broke off, his pale cheeks flushing a delicate pink as he focused on the ground in front of him, his warm breath ghosting across Jeanne's cheeks as he took another tentative step towards her.

"What?" Paris prompted breathlessly. She stiffened when the British teen abruptly closed the small distance between them, his warm, soft lips pressing against hers tenderly. Jeanne melted into the kiss, her arms reaching up to wrap around his neck just as his lithe arms winded their way around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

Jeanne broke away with a small gasp after a few moments, blood rushing into her cheeks as she looked up to meet his smoldering blue eyes.

"You were… saying?" she whispered.

Aedan chuckled and moved closer, his lips brushing for the briefest of moments against the shell of her ear before he spoke.

"Jeanne Bonnefoy," he murmured. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow night?"

"Are you cooking, _Londres_ (**London**)?" Paris asked wryly.

London smirked. "I was thinking Italian, _frogette_. And, in case you were wondering, Her Majesty isn't invited."

"Perfect~"


	5. Chapter 5: Achilles

**Hey guys! Okay, so, here's the promised CieloxAchilles fic! Also, thanks to all the people who read/reviewed this story so far and I'm sorry that you guys have to wait so long for some of these updates… :P Still, thanks a lot for your patience, and please let me know if there are any kids that you **_**really**_** want to see, m'kay? Reviews are awesome and make me happy smile- so review!**

**Also, here's a list of the kids that will make an appearance or be mentioned in this:**

**Spamano:**

**Cielo Romano Carriedo-Vargas: Sicily**

**Isabella Maria Carriedo-Vargas: Madrid**

**Margarita Luciana Carriedo-Vargas: Barcelona**

**Giripan:**

**Saichi Cassandra Honda-Karpusi: Tokyo**

**Achilles Taiyou Honda-Karpusi: Athens**

**PruHun:**

**Andras "Friz" Hedervary-Beilschmidt: Budapest**

**RusCan:**

**Marc Lucien Braginski-Williams: Vancouver**

**Katerina Ivanova Braginski-Williams: Moscow**

**Daniil Immanuil Braginski-Williams: Toronto**

Cielo Romano Carriedo-Vargas shifted uneasily on the crowded sidewalk, a low curse breaking through his lips when someone staggered into him and nearly sent the Sicilian sprawling onto the cold cement. Sicily took a deep, steadying breath and forced himself to walk into the club that most of the crowd was currently spilling out of, his amber eyes sweeping across the dim room in search of a familiar head of auburn hair.

"Rita!" he yelled over the pulsing music. "_Cazzo_ (**Fuck**)," he cursed when no one replied. "I'm going to _kill_ that girl when I get a hold of her…" _Why the hell did she even want to go out on a Monday night, anyways? Fucking friends probably convinced her, dannazione loro (__**Goddamn them**__)._

"H-Hey, cutie," someone purred into the Sicilian's ear. "Haven't seen you around before."

Cielo swore and leapt away from the voice, a high yelp breaking through his lips when a hot, sweaty hand fastened around his wrist and pulled him back.

"Get the _hell_ away from me, _bastardo_ (**bastard**)," he snapped, his eyes narrowing dangerously when the blond teen simply smirked, revealing beer-stained teeth and sour breath.

"Ooo, spirit," the teen slurred. "Don' see much of that, ya know?"

Cielo rolled his eyes and tried to pull away once more, his eyes widening in shock when the teen stumbled forward, his lips somehow managing to crash painfully against the Italian's. Sicily's automatic curse was muffled by the drunk's clumsy lips as he tried to pull away, a small groan of frustration rising in his throat when his struggles only caused the other man's lips to slip towards his ear.

"…Cielo?"

Sicily froze and slowly turned in the direction of the quiet, unusually-alert voice that had somehow made itself heard over the obnoxiously-loud music of the club. Wide brown eyes tinged with the faintest hint of hurt and betrayal stared back at him from beneath a mane of tangled chocolate-brown hair that fell in tangled locks onto an olive-toned neck. Achilles was moving before Cielo could even speak, his slim hands fastening with a surprising force around the collar of the drunk teen's shirt as he roughly shoved the boy away. The blond cried out in protest, only to hastily make his retreat when Athens glared at him.

"Ach-," Cielo began, the words dying in his throat when the Greek boy turned back to him, his expression unreadable aside from the pain that was still visible in his dark eyes.

"…You left early," Athens called over the music. "Before I could wake up. I was worried so… I followed you. Guess I found you."

Cielo visibly flinched at his partner's words and started to reach out with shaking hands, only to visibly crumple when the Greek merely tossed him a battered cellphone before turning away.

"…You left this," he murmured. "Don't stay out too late… It's not safe." Athens's voice broke on the last word and he hurried away from the Sicilian, his dark hair quickly disappearing into the throbbing mass of people in the club.

Sicily bit his lip and forced himself to look away from the place where he had last seen Achilles, his burning golden eyes sweeping with a furious intensity across the crowd. He stiffened when he finally caught sight of his sister swaying precariously on a barstool, her hands waving in the air as she screamed some sort of joke at the white-hair boy by her side. Margarita looked up in surprise when Cielo stormed towards them, her hazy green eyes narrowing in concern when they took in her older brother's expression.

"C-Cielo?" she called hesitantly. "_Estàs bé?_ (**Are you okay?**)"

"_Stai zitto_ (**Shut up**)," he snapped wearily. "We're going home."

"What-?"

"Just shut the _fuck_ up and come home!" Sicily screamed, his last shreds of shaky patience finally disappearing as hot, furious tears spilled across his face. "_Fuck_, why the hell did you have to come here, huh? _Why?_ Did it ever occur to you that I was busy? That I have a damn _life_? Do you have _any_ idea how much it fucking sucks to have to come out and get you every time you get wasted just to make sure you don't g-get h-hurt?" Cielo broke off and swallowed hard, his tanned fingers already fastening firmly around his sister's wrist.

Shocked, Barcelona followed him out of the club without another word, her wide emerald eyes flickering back towards her companion as she went. Fritz nodded in response to her silent request and slipped out of the club after her, his burgundy eyes focusing for a brief moment on a battered motorcycle as it sped violently away from the curb. Budapest raised his eyebrows and slowly pulled his own cellphone from his pocket, not even bothering to look down as he slowly punched in the numbers and raised the device to his ear.

"Daniil," he murmured. "Is your brother there?"

"_Yeah... Why?"_

"Does he have Sai with him?"

"_I think so. What is this-?"_

"Put her on the line."

"_I- They've been in his room for over an hour, I'm not going in-"_

"Please, Dan, it's nothing you haven't seen before," Fritz snapped. "This is important, alright?"

"_Fritz?_" Budapest stiffened in surprise when Katerina's voice came over the line. _"What's this about?"_

"Cielo," he replied. "And Achilles. I think something happened between them."

"_I'll get them,"_ Katerina replied firmly.

*Giripan*Giripan*Giripan*

Achilles didn't move when his bedroom door was violently kicked open, his eyes focused intently on the amber-eyed cat that was curled up on his lap.

"...Most people knock," he croaked, silently hating how broken his voice sounded.

"黙らせる (**Shut up**)," Saichi snapped. Tokyo stomped up to her younger brother and glared down at him, her moss-green eyes flashing in a rare show of anger. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Achilles," Saichi growled warningly. "I just got a call from Fritz to tell me that Cielo was an emotional wreck when he got Margarita out of some club."

"Oh?" His voice was shaking now… Probably not the best sign.

Saichi's eyes narrowed dangerously and she leaned closer to her brother, her slim hands plucking the sleepy cat out of his arms before the Greek could even blink. Athens cried out in protest and leapt to his feet, his red-rimmed gaze locked with a frightening intensity on the squirming kitten in Tokyo's arms.

"Give him back," he begged quietly. "Sai, please."

"Why should I?" Tokyo shot back. "Tell me what you did to Cielo."

"Please, Sai- he's special."

"I thought Cielo was special, too."

"Sai-."

"Why should I give him back?"

"Επειδή είναι του! (**Because it's his!**)" Achilles yelled, surprising the older girl. "That's Cielo's cat…" he added, his eyes filling with tears as the feline stared at him with curious amber eyes.

Saichi's brow furrowed in confusion as she slowly lowered the cat on to the floor. "What do you mean?"

"The cat that ran away… the day we met," Achilles explained roughly. "Cielo rescued it… This was one of its kittens. I was training it… so I could give it to him."

"Training it?" Saichi repeated slowly. "For what?"

Athens shook his head miserably and whistled quietly. Immediately, the dark brown cat ran to the far corner of the room. It paused and bent to pick something up before it walked carefully back to Achilles's side, a small velvet box clamped delicately in its mouth. Tokyo's lips fell open into a large "O" at the sight, her expression morphing into the look of awed joy that she usually reserved for yaoi anime.

"Is that-?" she began slowly, the words dying in her throat before she could finish the sentence.

Achilles nodded silently, his jaw clenching as streams of hot, salty tears ran across his olive cheeks. Saichi's expression softened. She hesitated for a moment before pulling her younger brother into an awkward hug, her muscles tensing slightly when he pressed his face into her shoulder.

"He was k-kissing someone else," the Greek whimpered. "In that _d-damn_ club… I s-saw him, and he's b-been leaving a lot more, a-and t-that boy…"

"You think he's been cheating on you?" Saichi asked carefully, silently wondering where she had last put her katana.

Achilles shrugged miserably and silently detached himself from the Japanese girl's embrace.

"…Just leave me alone," he muttered.

Saichi bit her lip and nodded. Tokyo waited until the door had been shut behind her before she straightened and clenched her hands into fists.

"イタリア支払いしようとしていること (**That Italian is going to pay**)," she muttered.

*Spamano*Spamano*Spamano*

Saichi was more than a little surprised to see the auburn-haired Spanish twins standing guard outside of Romano's Italian villa, identical battle axes clutched in their tanned hands. Isabella and Margarita stiffened at the sight of the Japanese city, their heads cocked to the side in wary confusion as they took in the katana that she carried across her shoulders.

"_¿Que quieres?_ (**What do you want?**)" Isabella asked cautiously.

"Your brother's head on a platter," Saichi replied calmly. "But I would settle for his balls."

Madrid flushed scarlet at Tokyo's statement, although the Japanese girl couldn't really tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. Barcelona frowned and moved closer to her twin, her grip tightening around the handle of her axe.

"I don't really think you should be talking," Margarita snapped. "Especially since _your_ brother's the reason why Cielo hasn't left his room since we got back from the club."

"Achilles said that Cielo was cheating on him," Saichi retorted, her calm façade cracking for a moment as anger crept into her voice.

"No, he wasn't!" Barcelona growled. "Cielo only went to that damn club to pick me up before I could get into trouble again."

"He was kissing-"

"The other guy was drunk," Isabella broke in. "Cielo didn't mean to kiss him: he was actually trying to get away."

"Trust us," Margarita added grimly. "Fritz and Daniil found the bastard that did it and… _persuaded_ him to tell them what happened."

Saichi frowned. "So… it's just a misunderstanding?"

"I don't think Achilles breaking _la corazon de mi hermano_ (**my brother's heart**) is 'just a misunderstanding'," Isabella said flatly. "You did hear that comment about Cielo not leaving his room, right?"

Saichi winced. "It's the same with Achilles… He just sits on his bed cuddling some cat that he was planning on giving Cielo when he-." She broke off suddenly, her cheeks flushing at the memory of the smooth velvet box held gently in the mouth of a sleek auburn cat.

"What?" the Spanish twins prompted at the same time, their grips loosening infinitesimally around their axes.

Tokyo shook her head thoughtfully and glanced up at the gleaming windows of the sun-bleached villa. Her brow furrowed when she saw one of the dark emerald curtains twitch back into place, her gaze zeroing in on the briefest glimpse of dull amber eyes and messy dark brown hair.

"…If I brought Achilles here," she said slowly. "Would you let him inside to see Cielo?"

"Depends," Margarita replied.

"Tell us what he was planning with the cat," Isabella added.

Saichi nodded solemnly and motioned for the younger girls to come forward. Madrid and Barcelona listened carefully as Tokyo told them about the Greek capital's plan, their expressions morphing almost immediately into identical expressions of awe and glee.

"How soon can you bring him over?" they demanded in unison.

*Giripan*Giripan*Giripan*

Cielo glared sullenly at the ceiling, silently wishing that it would fall and crush him. He groped blindly for one of the tomatoes that had once been piled beside his bed, a low moan of despair breaking through his lips when his hand came into contact with the smooth wood of his bedside table. He rolled over and craned his neck to see if any of the red fruit had somehow managed to roll onto the floor, only to freeze as his amber eyes locked on a gleaming ebony picture frame that stood in the place of honor beside his lamp.

Achilles stared back at him from beneath the frame, his chocolate eyes soft beneath his tousled hair. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he rested his chin on a blushing Cielo's shoulder, his olive-toned arms curled possessively around the Italian's slim chest.

Sicily closed his eyes and turned away, his lithe body shaking in sadness and frustration as burning tears ran across his cheeks.

"_Dannazione a te, Achille_ (**Damn you, Achilles**)," he whispered hoarsely. "_Cazzo bastardo, perché si deve fare questo a me?_ (**Fucking bastard, why did you have to do this to me?**)"

"Επειδή είμαι ηλίθιος (**Because I'm an idiot**)," a quiet, achingly-familiar voice replied immediately.

Cielo stiffened and leapt out of bed, his wide amber eyes locking on his bedroom door in time to see two auburn heads dart out of the room, leaving a hesitant Greek behind them.

"_Cazzo_ (**Fuck**)!" the Sicilian hissed.

Achilles winced and took a cautious step forward, his face crumpling when Cielo sprang away from his outstretched hand.

"ουρανός (**Sky**)," Athens called mournfully. "Please-."

"Stay away from me," Cielo snapped, his voice breaking half-way through the sentence. Cielo winced at the sound of his own voice and glared down at his bare feet, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. "J-just stay the fuck away from me, you asshole."

Achilles sighed heavily and slowly sat on the floor beside the closed door. He glanced up at the furious Italian and silently patted the ground in front of him. Cielo's eyes narrowed and he shook his head, his full lips turning down into a pout when the Greek continued to stare at him patiently. Sicily groaned and stormed across the room. He sat heavily across from Athens and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his jaw set.

"What do you want?" he asked sullenly.

"…To apologize," Achilles said slowly. "Saichi and your sisters told me… about the guy…"

"_I_ could have told you about him, too, if you had bothered to listen," Cielo snapped.

"I'm sorr-."

"Don't," Cielo growled. He sighed heavily when Achilles flinched and tugged irritably at a lock of his dark brown hair, his lips twisting in dismay. "Don't… Just don't…"

"ουρανός…"

"How many times have you told me that I could trust you?" Cielo demanded. "How _fucking_ long do you think it took me to believe you when you said that you would never hurt me? You _know_ how hard it is for me to let people in, _Atene_ (**Athens**)! So what do you do? One damn slip up, and you- you-." The Sicilian bit his lip and turned away before he could finish, his mouth twisting in disgust as tears fell across his flushed cheeks.

Achilles sucked in a sharp breath and reached out with shaking, tentative fingers to brush the tears away. Cielo glared up at the Greek, his expression softening slightly when he caught sight of the tears that had welled up in the other boy's soft coffee-colored eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Achilles whispered hoarsely. "Cielo…" He slowly reached out and drew the Italian closer, his shoulders slumping in relief when the younger boy didn't pull away. "I know that you don't believe me when I say this," he continued. "But… It's still so hard for me to believe that someone like you would… stay with someone like me for this long. I'm lazy, I sleep too much, my economy is… really bad, my dad and I are the laughing stock of Europe… When I saw you with that βλάκας (**jackass**), I was afraid that you had finally realized that you could do better and I… panicked. I wanted to get away before you could hurt me more and I… didn't realize how much I was hurting you until it was too late…"

Cielo shivered and slowly allowed himself to melt into Achilles's gentle embrace, silently cursing himself for giving in so easily.

"…Is that your idea of an apology?" he grumbled.

He felt Athens's chin bump against the top of his head in a nod and glanced up to meet the Greek's gaze, his heart breaking at the sight of the mute, desperate pleading in the older boy's eyes. Cielo sighed and pressed his face into Achilles's chest. He breathed in the scent of olives and sea salt that seemed to cling to the Grecian city like a second skin, his fingers tangling unconsciously in the soft fabric of his shirt.

"_Merda_ (**Shit**)," he murmured. "Why the hell am I in love with a dumbass like you?"

He felt Achilles's chest rumble with a quiet chuckle and smiled as a pair of warm lips pressed tenderly against his forehead.

"Συγχωρήστε μου (**Forgive me**)?" Athens asked hesitantly.

"_Sempre_ (**Always**)."

*Spamano*Spamano*Spamano*

Achilles watched as the hot Italian sun started to rise across the darkened sea, his arms wrapped protectively around the slumbering Sicilian at his side. His long, calloused fingers drifted lazily through Cielo's tangled locks before brushing tenderly across the boy's naked shoulders. He glanced up as the bedroom door was cracked open and a small kitten slipped into the room, a small smile making its way onto his lips when the cat paused for a moment before leaping gracefully onto the bed.

Athens lazily stretched out his free arm and allowed the cat to curl against his side. Zephyr meowed quietly and nuzzled tenderly against the Greek's bare chest, his amber eyes flickering curiously towards the bed's other occupant.

"Μήπως σου αρέσει? (**Do you like him?**)" Achilles whispered.

Zephyr meowed again and flicked its tail, causing the Greek to smile.

"Good," Athens sighed sleepily. "…He'll like you, too." There was a long pause as the sun continued to climb into the sky, its progress watched attentively by a certain capital city. "Zephyr…?"

The cat shifted but didn't respond, its chest already heaving gently in the first throes of sleep. Achilles smiled tenderly and reached down to gently retrieve the small velvet pouch that had been tied with a sky-blue ribbon around the kitten's neck, his eyes flickering warily towards his boyfriend in case the younger man decided to wake up. The Greek nodded in satisfaction when Cielo continued to sleep and stared down at the pouch in his hands.

"…Thanks for holding onto this for me."

**Okay, quick note here: Zephyr is named after the West wind, which was the gentlest of the wind spirits in Greek myth. Zephyr was also the wind that carried Psyche to Eros's palace at the beginning of their story (which you guys should read because it is ADORABLE!). Also, Achille is Achilles in Italian, while ****ουρανός**** is sky in Greek, which is basically the equivalent of Cielo's name.**

**Ummm I'm pretty sure those are all the notes that I have for this… Please review and let me know what you guys thought, and tell me if there are any kids that you **_**really**_** want to see, okay~?**


	6. Chapter 6: Francisco

**Hey guys! So, this update took a lot longer than I thought it would… I swear I would've gotten it up earlier, but my managers kept calling me in to work and I could really use the extra money right now since the senior trip to England/Ireland is coming up (I'm soooo excited~!). Anyways, since prom season is officially going strong in my school right now, and lots of people have been calling for more appearances from Francisco and Alyson, I decided that it's about time for these two to get some attention :D So, let me know what you guys think and please tell me who you want to see in the next chapter!**

**Kids that will be making an appearance:**

**GerIta:**

**Francisco Michelangelo Vargas-Beilschmidt: Milan**

**Magnus Friedrich Vargas-Beilschmidt: Berlin**

**Louisa Vittoria Vargas-Beilschmidt: Munich**

**Niccolo Rafaelo Vargas-Beilschmidt: Florence**

**USUK:**

**Alyson Eleanor Kirkland-Jones: New York City**

**Aedan Shakespeare Kirkland-Jones: London**

"_Du kleiner Bastard!_ (**You little bastard!**)"

Francisco ducked as a small porcelain plate flew over his head in the direction of his younger brother, his eyebrows rising in mild irritation when Niccolo caught the plate before it could smash onto the ground, his lips curled into a smirk.

"You should work on your aim, _sorella_ (**sister**)," Florence purred, only to yelp and dive onto the floor as another plate flew towards his head.

Louisa screamed in frustration and reached for another plate, her azure eyes narrowing dangerously when she was blocked by Magnus's iron grip on her wrist. Berlin glared back at her, his icy blue eyes flickering over towards his twin in a brief plea for assistance. Francisco sighed heavily and gingerly placed himself between his two younger siblings. He risked a quick glance towards the carved wooden clock that had been mounted onto the wall, his heart sinking when he saw the time.

"Niccolo," he began pleadingly. "Louisa. _Per favore_ (**Please**), can we not do this today? I really need to-"

"Make him apologize!" Munich snarled, her hand still straining against Magnus's grip.

"Why should I?" Niccolo shot back over Francisco's shoulder. "It's not _my_ fault that you spent the entire meeting eye-fucking _Il splendido Pechino_ (**the gorgeous Beijing**)."

"_I was not!_" Louisa screamed. "I-I was just making sure that the bastard wasn't going to do anything funny… And how the hell do you know anything about that meeting? You weren't even supposed to be there!"

Niccolo shrugged and winked, his wicked smile widening when Louisa attempted to tackle him before she was pulled back by Magnus. Berlin hastily pressed his sister onto the ground, his blue eyes glaring pleadingly at Milan. Francisco groaned and shot Niccolo a warning glance.

"_Vuoi smettere di essere un asino per un minuto?_ (**Will you stop being an ass for a minute?**)" he hissed. "Ve...Please, Niccolo, I'm going to be late."

The eldest Vargas-Beilschmidt regretted the words the minute they left his mouth, his heartsinking even as Niccolo's expression seemed to brighten.

"Ohhh," Florence cooed. "Are you Skyping Alyson tonight, _fratello?_"

Francisco winced but nodded, his brow furrowing in discomfort when Louisa stopped her struggles and glanced at him with a mixture of curiousity and exasperation.

"..._Gott_, Cisco," she muttered. "And Nic calls _me_ the hopeless one."

"There's still hope for Cisco, _sorella_," Niccolo corrected her cheerfully. "At least he can actually talk to his _amore segreto_ (**secret love**) without punching her."

"You-!"

Magnus rolled his eyes and readjusted his grip on Louisa before she could throw him off. He spared Francisco a strained smile and motioned for the older boy to leave the room, his icy eyes focusing intently on Niccolo's triumphant smirk.

"Go and get on your computer before you end up being late," Berlin grunted. "I can take care of these two _dummkopfs_ (**idiots**)."

Francisco nodded gratefully and fled the room, Louisa's frustrated cries ringing in his ears. He chuckled quietly and ducked into his bedroom, his eyes locking immediately on the white laptop that rested serenely on top of his bed.

Alyson called him moments after he logged into his account, her emerald eyes glittering beneath her glasses as her image materialized across the screen. Francisco smiled at her, not quite able to stop the blood from rushing into his cheeks in response to the blinding grin that she sent his way.

"Ve~ Sorry I'm late, Aly," he sighed. "Niccolo and Louisa got into another fight."

"Another one?" Alyson mused, her voice cracking slightly as she cocked her head to the side. "What happened this time?"

Francisco smirked and struggled not to focus on the way the American's thick golden locks spilled across the shoulders of her oversized green sweater everytime she moved.

"Apparently Louisa and Jian were having a 'moment' at the last meeting... Although I'm still not sure how Niccolo even knew about that since it wasn't his turn to go.*"

Alyson laughed and shook her head in amusement. "Dude, I don't think you really want to know the answer to that question. Remember, that kid is related to Prussia."

"Watch your tongue," Francisco argued playfully. "That's my uncle you're talking about."

The New Yorker snorted and rolled her eyes, not quite able to hide her smile. "Not like I can talk... I still can't look three of my uncles in the eye after what they did on New Year's Eve."

"You know, you never did tell me about that," Milan pointed out. "What exactly happened."

Alyson chuckled quietly and shrugged. "Eh, it's basically what you would expect to happen when an Irishman, a Welsh man, a Scot, and an Englishman stay in the same house for more than three hours with a basement full of liquor. Needless to say, Uncle Cian got an ear-full from some doctors on why dancing naked on a roof is a really bad idea at 2 in the morning."

Francisco laughed loudly, earning himself another small chuckle from the American girl. Milan frowned slightly when Alyson's expression darkened, her eyes suddenly focused on her clasped hands.

"Ve? What's wrong, Aly?" he asked gently.

"Ah... nothing," she muttered. "I just had a rough day."

"What happened?" Francisco prompted.

The American shrugged. "I- You know how I convince Dad to let me go to high school for a bit so that I could see what it's like for normal kids?"

Francisco nodded and waited for her to continue, his frown deepening the longer the younger girl took to continue.

"Well, prom is coming up in a few weeks and a lot of the girls have already gotten asked, and..." She paused again and bit her lip, her expression conflicted.

"Did someone ask you?" the Italian asked slowly, his heart settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Alyson smiled humorlessly and shook her head.

"Nah," she muttered. "I don't really... fit in there, you know? Guess it's because I'm not really human and I miss school a lot because of meetings or some other shit like that but not a lot of kids like me... Some of the girls started making fun of me today; they asked me if I was missing school to visit a secret boyfriend or something and I- I don't know, I just snapped. They've been treating me like crap for most of the year, and it really pisses me off so I... I sort of lied."

"Sort of lied?" Francisco repeated warily, not entirely sure why his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest.

Alyson grinned sheepishly. "I... might have told them that I have an Italian boyfriend who likes to have me over every few months."

Francisco gaped at her, his face flushing a bright scarlet in the dim light of his bedroom. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to form the words that he wanted to say. Alyson's smile faded the longer he remained silent, her own cheeks flushing a dull, furious red.

"I-it was a stupid thing to say anyways," she muttered. "Ah, hey, I have- I have a project... thing to do, kay? I-I'll... We'll talk later and stuff and... Bye."

"I- Aly- _Merda_ (**Shit**)," Francisco swore quietly when the American cut off the call before he could say anything. He groaned and fell back onto his bed, nearly sending the laptop toppling off of the mattress.

"...You know, I think I was wrong earlier when I told Louisa that there was still hope for you," Niccolo's voice called cheerfully.

Francisco yelped and leapt off of his bed, his eyes widening when Niccolo's auburn head slipped out from underneath his bed. The youngest Vargas-Beilschmidt winked and pulled himself away from the bed, his hazel eyes gleaming with a curious combination of exasperation and amusement.

"_Idiota_," Niccolo continued wearily. "Why the hell didn't you play along? _Dio_, the girl was basically asking you out on a date... You know that, right?"

Francisco frowned. "I- She wasn't- I panicked!"

Florence snorted. "Yeah, I think that's obvious." The younger Italian sat up and leaned his head against the foot of Francisco's bed. "So. What are you going to do now?"

Milan shrugged and shifted uneasily, his blue eyes unsure. "I could... call her again tomorrow and talk about it?"

Niccolo groaned and shook his head. "And you call yourself Italian..."

"Well, what would you do?" Francisco demanded, slightly insulted.

"Go and talk to her _in person_," Niccolo snapped. "And while you're at it, ask her out. I really don't want to have to deal with another day of watching you mope around the house. _Dio_, it's bad enough that I have to listen to Magnus drool over Russia's girl."

Milan smiled thinly and moved back towards the bed. He slowly lowered himself onto the mattress several inches away from Niccolo's head, his expression thoughtful.

"...You know," he mused. "Those bitches at her school are really pissing me off."

"Yeah?" Niccolo muttered, intrigued.

"Yeah," the elder Italian replied slowly. "Implying that Aly's not good enough to get a guy... They're insulting my taste in women, really."

Niccolo snickered but remained silent, his attention now focused entirely on his elder brother. The two Italians were quiet for another long moment as Francisco stared up at the ceiling, his thoughtful expression slowly transforming into a mischievous grin.

"I'll ask you again," Florence asked finally. "What are you going to do now?"

Francisco smiled wickedly. "...I'm going to need a plane ticket."

*GerIta*GerIta*GerIta*

Alyson slipped silently into the crowded cafeteria, her emerald eyes locked intently on the only empty table that had been shoved into the far corner of the room. She cast a quick, furtive glance towards an especially-crowded table near the center of the cafeteria before she half-sprinted towards her table, her hands curled protectively around the strap of her backpack and the handle of her lunchbag. The New Yorker breathed a small sigh of relief when she reached the table without any incident, only to stiffen when a trio of girls materialized out of the crowd and came to stand in front of her, their pink lips curved up into identical smirks. Alyson frowned at them and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"What do you guys want?" she demanded sharply. "And make it quick."

"Did you break up with that boyfriend of yours last night, Aly?" the middle girl asked sweetly.

Alyson rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the small tinge of pain that went through her at the memory of her last discussion with Francisco. God, she had been so stupid...

"What are you talking about, Gemma?" she asked flatly.

"You look like shit today, sweetheart," Gemma retorted. "Well, more like shit than usual."

New York City merely raised her eyebrows, mentally going over all of the ways that she could make her clasmates disappear. She was pretty sure that there were still a few rounds of explosives left over from last year's Fourth of July...

"So," Gemma continued silkily. "We were just wondering if your... appearance meant that you and that _Italian_ boyfriend had had a fight."

"He probably dumped her sorry ass," one of the other girls muttered.

Alyson felt the blood rush to her face as she turned to dump her backpack onto the chair behind her. She took a deep breath before she turned around again, her jaw clenched in an effort to control her fury.

"Get away from my table," she said quietly. "I want to eat some lunch."

Gemma smirked and moved until she stood between Alyson and the lunch table, her bright blue eyes glinting cruelly.

"Oh, but we were having so much _fun_ with this conversation," she snickered. "Weren't we, girls?"

Alyson gritted her teeth when the two other girls giggled behind her, her fists clenching automatically by her sides.

"...That's it," she muttered. Without warning, she reached out and grabbed a fistful of Gemma's shirt, her emerald eyes flashing even as the other girl started to splutter in alarm. "You want to have _fun_, bitch? I'll give you some-."

"Ve~ So, I'm guessing this is a bad time?"

Alyson froze at the sound of Francisco's voice, her hands loosening automatically from their death-grip on Gemma's blouse. She whirled around in the direction of the voice, her mouth falling open in shock when she caught sight of the smiling, exhausted Italian that was perched on the edge of her lunch table next to a small parcel. Francisco winked at her and ran a hand through his tousled auburn hair, taking care to avoid the small curl at the side of his head.

"_Ciao, bella_ (**Hello, beautiful**)," he called cheerfully, his Italian accent thickening slightly as his cheeks flushed a light pink. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought you some lunch. Aedan told me that the cafeteria food in America is... _Come si dice..._ (**How do you say...**) awful?"

Alyson laughed despite herself. "I hope you have pasta."

Milan's smile widened with relief and amusement and he nodded. He glanced towards Gemma when she made a small noise of shock, his eyebrows raised. "...And you are...?"

"No one important," Alyson said quickly before Gemma could make a sound.

Francisco smirked and left his perch to stand by Alyson's side, his grin widening when Gemma's companions stepped out of his way without a word, their rose-colored lips parted in mute expressions of awe. The Italian paused when he was less than a foot away from Alyson, his blue eyes searching hers carefully, looking for some kind of assurance. Alyson simply stared back, her jaw clenching and unclenching.

"...I didn't know you were coming," she whispered finally.

Milan shrugged. "I needed to do something."

"And that something is...?"

Francisco smiled softly and quietly reached into the inner pocket of his black leather jacket. Alyson felt the breath catch in her throat when he lifted the side of his coat to reveal a bright red rose. A shining yellow ribbon had been tied neatly around the stem, its golden hue nearly the exact same shade as the American girl's hair. Milan smiled quietly and held out the flower, his expression strangely vulnerable.

"Alyson Eleanor Kirkland-Jones," he whispered. "Will you, please, go to prom with me?"

Gemma choked slightly and opened her mouth to say something, only to be silence but a sharp look from the blond American. Alyson slowly turned back to face Francisco, her lips quirking up into a small smile when she caught sight of his smirk.

"...Can I try something?" she asked quietly.

Francisco's smile faltered and morphed into a confused expression, his hazel eyes wide and uncertain. He nodded after a moment, his brow furrowing as Alyson moved closer.

"...Good," New York City whispered so that only he could hear. "'Cuz I've been waiting to do this for a long time."

The American reached out and gripped the front of Francisco's jacket before she pulled him towards her, her parted lips meeting his halfway. The Italian sighed and wound his arms around Alyson's waist, drawing her flush against his chest. The gasps and whispers of those around them faded away until the two cities parted for breath, their faces flushed in identical shades of pleased scarlet.

"My dress is red," Alyson told him calmly. "I'll buy the tickets and you can pay me back later, kay?"

Francisco smirked and bent to pres another kiss to her lips before he pulled away.

"I like that arrangement," he murmured. "...Ah, just so you know, I think Niccolo was filming this."

Alyson raised her eyebrows and glanced over her shoulder, her mouth twisting into a pleased smile she caught sight of the dumbstruck expression on Gemma's face.

"...Good."


	7. Chapter 7: Antonio

**Muahahahaha! The accidental hiatus is coming to an end (at least, I really hope that it's coming to an end… seriously, I've been going through writer's withdrawal studying for AP exams and crap when I really wanted to be writing -.-) Please forgive me for how long it's been taking to get these updates up; I swear I would've written this sooner if it wasn't for those bloody tests…**

**Anyways~ I've kind of been obsessed with the Hobbit lately, especially since my parents bought me the movie for Easter and I saw how absolutely amazing Martin Freeman and Richard Armitage are… And, well, this just kind of…. Happened. So, for all of you guys who have been wanting some Spamano family, here it is! Also, I'm so sorry but there are spoilers here for those who haven't read the books, so… you've been warned?**

**Spamano:**

**Cielo Romano Carriedo-Vargas: Sicily**

**Isabella Maria Carriedo-Vargas: Madrid**

**Margarita Luciana Carriedo-Vargas: Barcelona**

Antonio frowned down at the small stack of books that had been shoved unceremoniously into his hands, his emerald eyes flickering warily back to the smug expression on Arthur Kirkland's face.

"Ah… _Gracias, amigo_ (**Thank you, friend**), for these… Ah…"

"It's called The Hobbit," England interrupted impatiently. "I figured that those children of yours could use some entertainment and Mr. Tolkien's works seemed like a good choice."

"I see…" Spain muttered, his brow still furrowed in confusion as he gingerly lifted one of the books closer to his face.

"What are you doing?" the British nation demanded exasperatedly, his bright green eyes flashing with slight amusement despite his best efforts.

Spain shrugged unapologetically and shot England a quick, half-hearted glare.

"I'm trying to find the catch," he explained flatly.

"The… catch?" England repeated slowly.

"_Sí_ (**Yes**)," the other nation agreed. "Did you think that I had forgotten our past so easily, _amigo?_ We have been enemies many times in the past."

"Yes, well, unfortunately our children haven't exactly gotten that memo," Arthur snapped. "Look, Spain, I'm not going to pretend that I suddenly want to be your best friend or something, and there are times when I would like nothing more than to sink your armada all over again-." The Briton paused and smirked slightly at the barely-perceptible flinch that Spain gave in response to that particular statement.

"However," he continued. "It seems that both of my children have gotten rather close to your children, and I… I have been alone for too long to wish the same lonely fate on my children. Any friend that they make is a blessing, and I wanted to offer you those books as a token of my gratitude."

Antonio blinked slowly, his mouth falling open into a small "O" of surprise. After a moment, the Spaniard managed to close his mouth and nod in acknowledgement of the Briton's words, his gaze going back to the three slim books in his arms with a little less suspicion than before.

"Thank you, Arthur," he said finally. A small smile flickered across the Spanish nation's features as his eyes travelled over his shoulder to the three children that were currently clutching onto a red-face Lovino as the Italian struggled to leave with his brother. "I think that these books might come in handy with Lovi out of the house for a few days."

Arthur smirked and nodded in agreement. "Indeed. I can't even tell you how many times Doctor Who has saved me from having to deal with Aedan and Alyson whenever their father isn't at home."

Spain's smile widened and he thanked England again, his legs already taking him back to the spluttering Italian that had just called his name. Arthur watched him go, his smirk slowly widening into a wicked grin when he was sure that the Spaniard couldn't see him.

*Spamano*Spamano*Spamano*

"…_Che diavolo è questo?_ (**What the hell is this?**)"

Antonio shot his thirteen-year-old son a stern look, his gaze sweeping nervously across the identical expressions of confusion on the faces of his nine-year-old daughters as the twins inspected their books.

"Books," Spain explained hesitantly. "Those are books. They were given to me for you by Mr. Kirkland. He said that he thought that you might like them."

"_Papa_, what is a 'hobbit'?" Isabella asked quietly, her curious expression half-hidden by the long auburn hair that had fallen out of its braid to fall freely across her face.

Spain smiled tenderly and reached out to tuck a few strands of hair behind his daughter's ear, his smile widening when Margarita hastily tugged a few strands of hair out her own braid and glared at him challengingly.

"I don't really know, _querida_ (**dear**)," he admitted as he moved to tuck the newly-freed strands behind Margarita's ears.

"So, you're making us read a book when you don't even know what's in it?" Barcelona stated flatly.

Spain gave his children a blinding smile and nodded cheerfully.

"That's right~!" he sang happily. "Oh! I need to get some paperwork done this afternoon, _vale_ (**Okay**)? I'll see you at dinner!"

The three siblings watched as their father practically skipped down the stairs to his study, the silence between them broken only by the dull _smack_ of Cielo's hand meeting his forehead.

"_Dio_ (**God**), why is that moron our father?" Sicily moaned.

Madrid gave her older brother a tentative smack on the back of his head, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment when the action only caused the Italian to laugh.

"We might as well start reading this," she murmured. "How bad can it be?"

*Spamano*Spamano*Spamano*

Less than three hours later, Antonio pushed himself away from his desk and stretched his arms over his head, his expression twisting as the cramped muscles protested at the sudden movement. The Spaniard slowly pulled himself out of his seat and made his way to the kitchen, his brow furrowing when he failed to hear anything from the three children that he had left upstairs. Spain hesitated and slowly made his way back up to the second floor, his emerald eyes locking immediately on the door that led to Cielo's bedroom.

"Cielito?" Antonio called cautiously as he carefully eased the door open. "Rita? Isabella?"

"_What?_" three voices snapped irritably before he could fully open the door.

Antonio blinked in shock, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Cielo glared back at him from his position on the bed, his amber eyes flashing between his father and the book in his hands. Isabella and Margarita were huddled together in the corner, their auburn heads barely visible above the small nest of blankets and pillows that had been built around them, their emerald eyes sweeping frantically across the pages of their books.

"Ah, dinner will be ready in about half an hour," Antonio said slowly.

Three grunts of acknowledgement greeted his statement. Antonio frowned, slightly alarmed by the lack of enthusiasm.

"Do... any of you want to help?" he tried again.

"_Papa_," Cielo growled irritably. "Not now! Bilbo is trying to escape from Gollum!"

"_Ei!_ (**Hey!**)" Barcelona snapped. "Spoilers!"

"Well, maybe if you two would fucking _read faster_ we wouldn't be having this problem!"

"Cielo!" Antonio barked, only to be ignored as the twins shot Cielo identical glares.

"We can't help it that you're older than we are!" Isabella objected.

"Fíli and Kíli are younger than everyone else and they have no problem keeping up," Cielo shot back.

"We're not Fíli and Kíli," Margarita snapped. She paused suddenly and exchanged a curious glance with her twin. Isabella cocked her head to the side, her emerald eyes glimmering with a rare flash of mischief.

"Well..." Madrid murmured slowly.

"Maybe a little," Barcelona added. "... Does that make me Fíli?"

"Kíli," Isabella corrected immediately. "I want to be Fíli."

Margarita huffed and shrugged, her lips twitching with a barely-concealed smile.

"_Indiferent_ (**Doesn't matter**)," she muttered. "Kíli is better, anyways."

"Hold on!" Cielo barked irritably, apparently oblivious to the confused glances that his father was sending between the siblings. "Who the hell am I, then?"

The Spanish twins glanced at each other again, their lips curling into identical wicked smiles.

"Thorin," they declared in unison.

Cielo's eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment as he glanced back down at his book, his expression suddenly thoughtful.

"...I can live with that," he decided finally.

"So," Antonio said slowly, causing the three siblings to shoot him irritable glances once again. "About dinner..."

"Can we bring the books?" Margarita asked eagerly.

*Spamano*Spamano*Spamano*

Over the next few days, Antonio noticed his children's odd behavior with increasing levels of alarm.

He could have lived with having his children reading books at the table and their sudden decision that books were more important than food (although he couldn't help but notice that several tomatoes had mysteriously gone missing from the pantry over the last few days), and the odd level of quiet that settled over the house for hours at a time was actually helping him get more work done when he wasn't worrying that the three usually-loud children had suddenly dropped dead somewhere. And Antonio supposed that he couldn't really complain about his children's sudden insistance that they need to learn how to wield axes and swords; he _had_ been trying to convince Romano that battle training built character, after all...

Of course, there were certain things that the easygoing Spaniard couldn't easily explain away, such as Isabella and Margarita's sudden habit of shadowing Cielo's footsteps wherever he went and Cielo's sudden interest in Lovino's maps of Mount Vesuvius. Granted, it had been entertaining to see the look on Greece's face at the last meeting when Margarita had loudly decided that Achilles should be Bilbo because he 'acted like a hobbit', even if Spain was _still_ sore from the Greek's surprise attack after the meeting. And then there was that alarming moment when Margarita and Isabella had burst into tears yesterday after Spain had informed them that no, they probably wouldn't be able to grow beards.

All things considered, Antonio was surprised that he didn't tackle Lovino the moment the irritable, _blessedly_ normal Italian stomped through the front door grumbling about idiotic brothers and ass-hole prime ministers. As it was, Spain only waited for the Italian to lower his suitcase onto the floor before he pulled the spluttering Romano into his arms and buried his face into the Italian's hair.

"_Gracias a Díos_ (**Thank God**)," Antonio moaned. "_Por favor_ (**Please**), Lovi, make it stop, make it stop, _make it stop_!"

"What the hell is wrong with you, bastard?" Lovino yelped, his amber eyes widening in alarm at the Spaniard's behavior. "Wha- Where are the kids? So help me, if something happened to them-."

A loud, piercing cry of sorrow and dismay echoed down from the stairs, causing the two nations to freeze. Lovino's eyes widened in alarm and he ran up the stairs with a speed that only an Italian could match, Antonio scrambling after him. Spain skidded to a halt when he realized that the muffled sobs and cries were coming from the door to Cielo's bedroom, his heart sinking suddenly as he wondered what England's books had done now.

"Lovi-," he called warily, trying to warn his husband before it was too late.

Lovino burst into the room before Antonio could finish his sentence, only to skid to a sudden halt as he took in the room in front of him, his eyes flickering back towards Antonio with frightened confusion.

"_Ma che cazzo?_ (**What the fuck?**)" he hissed.

Antonio sighed heavily and made his way to Lovino's side, silently cursing Arthur Kirkland to the deepest depths of hell.

Cielo didn't even glance up at them, his thin arms wrapped tightly around the two girls that were huddled against his sides, their tear-stained faces buried in the folds of his wrinkled t-shirt. One of England's books was lying on the floor in front of the three siblings, its pages already marked with drying tears.

"Cielito?" Antonio called cautiously. "Isabella? Rita? What happened?"

The girls glaned up at him, their green eyes reddened and clouded by tears.

"F-Fíli," Isabella choked.

"And Kíli," Margarita wailed.

"And T-Thorin," Cielo whispered brokenly.

Spain sighed heavily and crouched down until he was level with the three siblings, his arms held open in invitation. Margarita and Isabella ran into his arms without hesitation. After a few moments, Cielo came after them, his arms wrapping tightly around Spain's shoulders as he buried his head in the nation's neck.

"W-Why?" Sicily hissed into the Spaniard's skin.

"Why what, _querido?_" Spain murmured. Dimly, Antonio realized that Lovino had also knelt to join the huddle, his amber eyes wide and concerned as he ran a comforting hand along Cielo's shoulders.

"Why do people need to die?" Cielo whispered brokenly.

Antonio simply shook his head, his thoughts flying back to all of the men and women that he had outlived in his life, his chest aching with a familiar pang of despair.

"I don't know, _querido_," he admitted quietly. "I'm sorry."

"B-but, _Papa_, Isabella sniffled. "We loved them..."

"You don't have to stop," Lovino told her softly. "Death doesn't change what someone meant to you- it only lets you appreciate them more."

Margarita choked slightly and left Antonio's embrace to rush into Lovino's waiting arms.

"Cielo," Barcelona called, her voice muffled by the fabric of Romano's shirt.

"What?" Sicily responded brokenly.

"Don't you dare banish Achilles," she said fiercely. "I like him."

Cielo snorted and reached out to lightly smack Margarita across the top of the head, his shoulders shaking with something that was either a laugh or a sob.

"Fine," he whispered. "But I swear to God if either of you ever die for me, _I will murder you_."

The twins started to laugh suddenly, causing a small, cautious smile to spread across Cielo's lips. Antonio felt a chuckle rise to his own lips and glanced over to see that Lovino was barely holding back a smile, his amber eyes soft.

_Maybe I won't murder Inglaterra just yet..._

*Spamano*Spmano*Spamano*

Antonio lingered in the doorway of the living room, his emerald eyes flickering across the small mob of teenagers that were clustered in front of the enormous flatscreen. A small, unsurprised smile rose to his lips when he noticed that Isabella and Margarita had taken their customary places on either side of Cielo, their fingers intertwined on Sicily's lap. The twins had never really resigned from their self-appointed positions as the boy's bodyguards, and Antonio had often caught the twins guarding the hallway that led to Cielo's room whenever the young Italian was having a 'secret' meeting with his Greek boyfriend. Said Greek was currently sprawled on the floor at Cielo's feet, his slim hands moving occasionally to tug at the dark green kerchief that Sicily had tied around his neck shortly before the movie started.

Margarita shifted suddenly and leaned across Cielo to whisper something in Isabella's ear, earning herself a small smack from her brother and a quiet chuckle from her twin. The three siblings stiffened suddenly as the mountains began to move across the screen, small cries of fear breaking through their lips when a handful of...dwarves?... disappeared from view as a giant made of stone slammed into the side of a cliff. Low sighs of relief rose from their place on the couch moments later when those same dwarves reappeared, and Antonio couldn't help but notice that his twins seemed to be clutching each other even tighter than before.

Spain chuckled quietly and finally pulled away from the room, his eyes travelling down to the three worn, slightly tattered books that had been placed on the small lampside table just outside of the living room. Antonio cocked his head to the side and reached out to pick up one of the books, suddenly curious.

Lovino would find him about two days later huddling in a corner, his voice raw with emotion as he cursed England and all of his authors for being so damn cruel and perfect.

Somewhere across the English Channel, England would laugh and turn back to the book in his hands, carefully ignoring America's confused looks even as his children smirked at each other behind him.

Arthur had to remember to tell Tink to send his regards to Mr. Tolkien later.


	8. Chapter 8: Christian

…**. Yeah, I really need to get better at updates, don't I? Well, anyways, I'm going to try and get as many updates up as possible this week since I'm leaving for Ireland and England on Thursday. So~**

**Alright, so I know a lot of you have been asking to see Katerina and Marc, and I swear they're coming up… soon… I think… But! First, I had to get this out because I haven't really done much with any of the Nordic kids, especially with the DenNor kids, so…. Yep. Here's one of 'em, at least! Anyways, sorry again for the long wait… again… and please let me know what you guys think, okay? Thank you again to everyone who has read/reviewed this story!**

**DenNor:**

**Christian: Copenhagen**

**Freya: Oslo**

**GerIta:**

**Francisco Michelangelo Vargas-Beilschmidt: Milan**

**Magnus Friederich Vargas-Beilschmidt: Berlin**

**Louisa Vittorai Vargas-Beilschmidt: Munich**

**Niccolo Rafaelo Vargas-Beilschmidt: Florence**

**PruHun:**

**Andras "Fritz" Hedervary-Beilschmidt: Budapest**

**USUK:**

**Alyson Eleanor Kirkland-Jones: New York City**

**Aedan Shakespeare Kirkland-Jones: London**

…_.He's trying to kill someone._

Christian took a deep, steadying breath and risked another glance around the corner of the hall, his bright blue eyes widening in silent alarm as he studied the small, auburn-haired boy that had somehow attached himself to the ceiling, his tiny hands curled around a large balloon that had been filled with some unknown substance. The boy didn't seem to have noticed Christian, yet, his narrowed hazel eyes focused with a frightening intensity on the door at the other end of the hall.

_Seriously,_ Christian's mind whispered frantically. _He's going to kill someone… Can you even kill someone with a balloon? He'll probably find some way to do it. But… Why __**here**__? You don't just do stuff like this in the United Nations building! It's just not __**done**__!_

Still, Copenhagen figured that he shouldn't really be surprised. At the tender age of eleven, Niccolo Vargas-Beilschmidt had already gained a reputation as the world's worst prankster, and practically every city lived in fear of becoming the next target of the Italian's pranks. Christian himself had never suffered more than a few missing shirts and the occasional attack of a water gun, but he had helped Davin wash pink paint out of his hair enough times to know what the Italian was capable of.

Niccolo's eyes flickered back towards the Dane's hiding place, causing Christian to duck behind the wall with a low yelp. Copenhagen pressed his back firmly against the wall, the blood pounding in his ears. _Lort_ (**Shit**), had the Italian seen him? He was going to get paint in his hair, he just knew it, and he really, _really_ hoped that Niccolo didn't throw pink paint at him because pink really wasn't his color and Freya would never let him live it down if-.

A small, sad sigh reached the Dane's ears, stopping his thoughts abruptly in their path. Christian frowned slightly and risked another glance around the corner of the hall, his frown deepening when he caught sight of the weary frown that had furrowed the Italian's brow and the dull, faint loneliness that had settled into Niccolo's wide hazel eyes. Florence bit his lip and shifted slightly in his corner of the ceiling, his lips trembling infinitesimally as he focused once again on the balloon in his hands.

_He's lonely_, Christian realized suddenly. Did the Italian even have any friends? He had thought that maybe Alyson was on good terms with the youngest Italian, but even she hardly ever spent time with him unless he was with his older brothers.

_He doesn't have any friends_, a small corner of Christian's mind whispered solemnly. _Maybe that's why he's always pranking people…_

_Maybe… maybe if he would stop if he had a friend._

Copenhagen bit his lip and slowly inched away from his hiding space, his muscles tensing as he drew closer to the Italian. Niccolo didn't look away from the door this time, although Christian couldn't help but notice the way that the younger boy's muscles seemed to tense as well when the Danish capital came too close.

"Is- Is that stuff poinsonous?" Christian blurted out before he could stop himself.

Niccolo blinked and turned his head to stare down at him, his hazel eyes widening in confusion and surprise.

"What stuff?" he demanded.

"In your balloon," Christian explained hesitantly, his cheeks burning under the Italian's intense gaze. "The… liquidy stuff. Is it poisonous?"

Niccolo snorted and shook his head, his lips twitching up into an amused smirk.

"Do you really think that anyone in their right mind would trust me with poison?" he asked dryly.

"Do you really think that anyone here _is_ in their right mind?" Christian countered, earning himself another laugh from the Italian.

"Probably not," Niccolo admitted. He paused for a moment and considered the ground in front of Christian, his expression thoughtful.

Christian scrambled away automatically as the Italian clambered gracefully back onto the floor, his balloon cradled gingerly beneath his arm. Niccolo flashed him a toothy grin moments after his feet had landed firmly on the ground, his fingers curling nervously around the balloon in his grasp.

"It's just water," he assured the Danish capital before Christian could say anything. "I was going to drop it on Davin when he got out of the bathroom, but…" Florence shrugged and smiled wistfully down at the balloon, apparently oblivious to Copenhagen's dimly-horrified look.

"Why don't you like Davin?" Christian demanded, struggling to keep the protective anger out of his voice. "He's my cousin, you know, and he's not bad-."

"He scares Louisa," Niccolo interrupted flatly.

Christian blinked slowly and cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"He doesn't do it on purpose, of course," Florence continued. "But he still scares her, even if she doesn't like to show it. He's just… he's really intimidating, you know? Anyways, I figured that she would stop being afraid of him if he walked into the meeting completely soaked, or if he sat on a whoopee cushion once or twice, or-."

"Or if he had pink hair?" Christian added wryly.

Niccolo smiled, only half-repentant. "Hey, it's not all bad. At least this way he gets Isabella's attention."

"I don't think that that is the kind of attention that he wants from Isabella," Christian objected. He froze as soon as the words left his mouth, his face paling in alarm. _Lort_, Davin hadn't wanted him to say anything about that, it was supposed to be their secret-.

"It's still attention, though," Niccolo pointed out. "And I thought that people like it when the person that they like smiles at them."

"It's not the same when they're _laughing_ at you," Christian snapped.

Niccolo shrugged.

"It's still a smile."

Christian felt his lips twitch upwards despite himself and shook his head, his smile widening slightly at the Italian's answering grin.

The two boys flinched when the door opened behind them and whirled around in time to catch Davin's alarmed gaze. The Swedish capital frowned slightly as he took in the two boys in front of him, his hard violet eyes softening slightly when he caught sight of his cousin.

"Wha's goin' on?" he asked quietly.

"Niccolo was showing me how to make the perfect water balloon," Christian said quickly before the Italian could open his mouth. "He was just about to take me outside so that I could try it out."

The Italian nodded frantically in agreement, his hands trembling faintly around the balloon as he met Davin's questioning gaze. After a moment, Stockholm huffed in amusement and gently pushed past the two boys, the sides of his mouth twisted into the tiniest of smiles. Niccolo waited until the Swede had disappeared around the corner before he turned back to Christian, his lips parted in silent awe.

"Why didn't you tell him that I was going to soak him?" he asked quietly. "He's your cousin."

Christian shrugged and smiled slightly, silently marveling at how easy it was to smile around the Italian.

"Well, friends don't throw each other under the bus, _ret?_ (**right?**)" he muttered.

Niccolo stared at him for a long moment, his smile widening until Christian could see rows of white teeth gleaming in the dull light of the building.

"Are we… We're friends?" he whispered hesitantly.

"_Ja_ (**Yeah**)," Christian murmured. "… But only if you actually let me throw that balloon at you."

Niccolo laughed then, his quiet voice rising in a loud shout of amusement that made Christian want to laugh along with him.

The Italian was still laughing five seconds later when the water balloon smashed into his face.

*DenNor*DenNor*DenNor*

"No."

"Aw, c'mon, Chris!" Fritz howled, his voice obviously slurred as he lifted yet another tankard of beer off of the counter.

Christian rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at Aedan for support, only to find the Londoner slumped across the countertop, a small horde of empty shot glass and a half-empty tankard of beer surrounding him.

"'e had another fight with Jeanne today," Fritz crowed, his red-brown eyes glaze with drunken amusement. "Hah! Those two…. _Ők nem is megy egy nap anélkül, azzal érvelve _(**They can't even go a day without arguing**)."

"Fritz, I can't understand you when you speak Hungarian," Christian explained with forced patience. "Especially when you're drunk."

Fritz snorted and waved his hand in a vaguely-dismissing gesture, his expression twisting as he threw back another mouthful of beer.

"You," he gasped breathlessly. "You… you need to k-k-kiss Nic- Nikki- Nicoli-"

"Niccolo," Christian supplied wearily.

"_Igen!_ (**Yeah!**)" Fritz yelled so loudly that several other people in the bar turned to look at them and Aedan stirred sluggishly on his section of countertop.

"Wha's happ'nin'?" London slurred.

"Nothing, Aedan, go back to sleep," Christian sighed. "And stay away from that beer."

"M'not…Bloody Englishmen know how ta… how ta… hold their… lockers…" Aedan mumbled something else inarticulate and shifted around in his seat, somehow able to completely change his position without lifting his forehead from the damp wooden counter.

Christian rolled his eyes, his muscles tensing when Fritz threw a hand over his shoulder.

"Seriously!" the Hungarian continued. "'m tired of seein' you two skipping around each other an'- an' stuff. It's- _Ez annyira bosszantó!_ (**It's so annoying!**)"

"Fritz!" Christian snarled. "And how are we any more annoying than you and Fritz and Daniil? I swear if I catch you two having eye-sex one more time, I'll-."

"S'not the same!" Fritz howled. "An' it's not- S'not eye… stuff an'… an' how 'bout this! If ya… If Denmark wins Eurovizzy- Euro… that singing thing… you kiss Niccolo an'- an' yeah! It'll be cool!"

"And what if I say no to this _really stupid_ idea?" Christian demanded.

Fritz stared at him for a long moment, his lips curling into an evil smirk that made Christian wonder how drunk the Hungarian capital actually was.

"If you say no," he purred. "I'll do a repeat of the Prague incident."

"_Åh Gud_ (**Oh God**)," Christian groaned, his face paling immediately in horror. He still couldn't look the Czech Republic in the face, and he didn't even want to know if they were allowed to cross the border yet. "Fritz, please, this is my favorite bar- It's in my dad's capital, for God's sake!"

"I'll do it," Fritz whispered silkily. "I swear I'll do it, Chris."

"_Jesus Kristus_ (**Jesus Christ**)," Copenhagen hissed. "Fine, fine! But only if Denmark wins, got it? And… And only if you even remember tonight!"

Budapest's smile widened and he nodded, his eyes oddly clear.

Christian cringed and pushed away from the bar, silently praying for the first time in his life that his father's country wouldn't win Eurovision.

_I can't risk this… I can't screw things up with Nic…_

_I don't want to lose him…_

*DenNor*DenNor*DenNor*

"_Rend mit liv_ (**Fuck my life**)," Christian breathed, his wide eyes locked in silent horror and shock on the television screen.

Beside him, Niccolo cheered and playfully bumped against Christian's shoulder, his smile fading slightly when he caught sight of Topi's disappointed face. The youngest Italian bit his lip and started to slip away, only to flinch back towards Christian when Fritz let out a loud cheer of his own and started ranting to a frustrated Daniil about Hungary's inevitable future win.

"…Someone really needs to stop giving him alcohol," Florence mused. He glanced up at Christian and flashed him another smirk, his tanned cheeks flushed beneath his tousled auburn hair.

Christian swallowed heavily and tried to force himself to turn away, his eyes flickering warily towards the place where Fritz had been only moments before. _Lort_, where did Fritz go?

"Chris?" Niccolo called, his brow furrowed with a hint of concern. "_Ehi_ (**Hey**), I'm going to go and check on Topi, _va bene?_ (**Okay?**)"

Christian nodded mechanically, his lips quirking upwards into a small smile at the thought of Niccolo's strange friendship with the youngest of the Nordic cities. Despite the Finnish capital's nearly-infamous shyness, Topi had been one of the first cities to attempt to befriend Niccolo after Christian, and the two younger cities had quickly become close, much to Sweden and Davin's chagrin.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Make sure he's doing okay… Nic?"

Niccolo turned around, his eyebrows half-raised in a silent question. A half-smile still hovered over the Italian's flushed lips as he waited for Christian to say something. Copenhagen took a deep, steadying breath and forced himself to focus on the Italian's eyes, stubbornly ignoring the flash of heat that went through him at the sight of Niccolo's slightly-parted lips.

"I- Mmph!" he yelped, his eyes widening in silent alarm as he was shoved unceremoniously into Niccolo.

The Italian stumbled back as well, nearly going cross-eyed in his attempts to stare at the place where their lips had collided roughly. Before Christian could even think to move away, Niccolo seemed to steel himself and leaned into the abrupt kiss, his hands moving to tentatively clasp Christian's shoulders. Copenhagen shuddered, his eyes slipping closed before he could consciously think about it. His arms moved automatically to wrap around Niccolo's waist and pull him close, his body trembling in response to the startled, pleased gasp that Florence made in response.

Christian pulled away a second later, his chest heaving in panic and exhilaration. Dammit, dammit, he shouldn't have done that, he really shouldn't have done that, he wasn't ready, and he didn't want to lose Niccolo, not like this-.

Niccolo was staring up at him now, his hazel eyes bright with awe and the barest hint of fear, his flushed cheeks nearly scarlet.

"You… you didn't mind?" he whispered hesitantly, his expression oddly vulnerable for a brief moment.

Christian swallowed thickly and slowly shook his head, even as his brain screamed at him to stop, to just stop everything right now because he wasn't ready for this and he didn't know what was going to happen next.

Niccolo smiled suddenly and surged forward to wrap his arms around Christian in a tight hug, his face buried securely in the Dane's shirt.

"_Grazie_ (**Thank you**)," he gasped. "I was so afraid and… _Grazie_."

Christian bit his lip and pulled the Italian closer, his wide blue eyes meeting Freya's over the bobbing heads of the other cities.

His sister frowned at him, her violet eyes dark with concern beneath her spiky golden hair. She shook her head after a brief moment and flashed him a small, rare smile of encouragement.

"_Finally_," she mouthed.

Christian nodded and gave her a tight smile in return, not quite able to push away the fear that had settled in his gut even as he pulled Niccolo closer, reveling in his warmth.

_Please… don't let me mess this up…_

_Tell me_

_How many times can we win and lose?_

_How many times can we break the rules between us?_

_Only teardrops…_

…_Only teardrops_


End file.
